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UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


llllllllili 

00022092959 


This  BOOK  may  be  kept  out  TWO  WEEKS 
ONLY,  and  is  subject  to  a  fine  of  FIVE 
CENTS  a  day  thereafter.  It  was  taken  out  on 
the  day  indicated  below: 


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They  all  drew  to  the  tire,  mother  in  the  hi^r  chair,  with  Beth  at 
her  feet;  Meg  and  Amy  perched  on  either  arm  of  the  chair,  and  Jo 
leaning  on  the  back.  —  Page  12. 


LITTLE   WOMEN 


MEG,  JO,  BETH  AND  AMY 


BY    LOUISA   M.    ALCOTT 


ILLUSTRATED    BY    MAY    ALCOTT 


BOSTON 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS 

1S69 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT, 

In  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


Stebeotyped  bt  Innes  &  Regas, 
55  Water  Street,  Boston. 


Presswork  by  John  Wilson  and  Son. 


.-^t^^  cS,    i^ 


'^^ZuCl-^^ 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Archive 

in  2011  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/littlewonienormeg01alco 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

PAGE 

Playing  Pilgrims 7 

CHAPTER    II. 
A  Merry  Christmas    .        .        .        .        .        .        .        '      ^3 

CHAPTER    III. 
The  Laurence  Boy 39 

CHAPTER    IV. 
Burdens 54 

CHAPTER    V. 
Being  Neighborly 71 

CHAPTER    VI. 
Beth  finds  the  Palace  Beautiful 88 

CHAPTER    VII. 
Amy's  Valley  of  Humiliation 98 

CHAPTER    VIII. 
Jo  meets  Apollyon 108 

CHAPTER    IX. 
Meg  goes  to  Vanity  Fair 124 

CHAPTER    X. 
The  P.  C.  and  P.  O.  .        , 147 

CHAPTER    XI. 
Experiments 158 


iv  Contents. 

CHAPTER    XII. 

PAGE 

Camp  Laurence  ...         .         .         .        .         .         .     174 

CHAPTER    XIII. 
Castles  in  the  Air *    202 

CHAPTER    XIV. 
Secrets ai6 

CHAPTER    XV. 
A  Telegram 230 

CHAPTER    XVI. 
Letters 242 

CHAPTER    XVII. 
Little  Faithful 254 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 
Dark  Days 265 

.  CHAPTER    XIX. 
Amy's  Will 277 

CHAPTER    XX, 
Confidential 2S9 

CHAPTER    XXI. 
Laurie  makes  Mischief,  and  Jo  makes  Peace    .         .         .     299 

CHAPTER    XXII. 
Pleasant  Meadows .         .     3:6 

CHAPTER    XXlIl. 
Aunt  March  settles  the  Question 326 


PREFACE, 


"  Go  then,  my  little   Book,    and   show  to   all 
That   entertain,  and  bid  thee  welcome  shall. 
What  thou  dost  keep  close  shut  up  in  thy  breast; 
And  wish  what  thou  dost  show  them  may  be  blest 
To  them  for  good,  may  make  them  choose  to  be 
Pilgrims  better,  by  far,  than  thee  or  me. 
Tell  them  of  Mercy ;  she  is  one 
Who  early  hath  her  pilgrimage  begun. 
Yea,  let  young  damsels  learn  of  her  to  prize 
The  world  which  is  to  come,  and  so  be  wise; 
For  little  tripping  maids  may  follow  God 
A.long  the  ways  which  saintly  feet  have  trod." 

ADAPTED  FROM  JOHN  BUNYAN. 


CHAPTER    I. 


PLAYING     PILGRIMS 


CHRISTMAS   won't  be   Christmas  without   any 
presents,"  grumbled  Jo,  lying  on  the  rug. 

"Ifs  so  dreadful  to  be  poor ! "  sighed  Meg, 
looking  down  at  her  old  dress. 

"  I  don't  think  if  s  fair  for  some  girls  to  have  lots 
of  pretty  things,  and  other  girls  nothing  at  all,"  added 
little  Amy,  with  an  injured  sniff. 

"  We've  got  father  and  mother,  and  each  other,  an-  ■ 
how,"  said  Beth,  contentedly,  from  her  corner. 

The  four  young  faces  on  which  the  firelight  shox 
brightened  at  the  cheerful  words,  but  darkened  again 
as  Jo  said  sadly,  — 

"  We  haven't  got  father,  and  shall  not  have  him  for 
a  long  time."  She  didn't  say  "  perhaps  never,"  but 
each  silently  added .  it,  thinking  of  father  far  away, 
where  the  fighting  was. 

Nobody  spoke  for  a  minute ;  then  Meg  said  in  an 
altered  tone,  — 

"  You  know  the  reason  mother  proposed  not  having 
any  presents  this  Christmas,  was  because  it's  going  to 
be  a  hard  winter  for  every  one ;  and  she  thinks  we 

7 


8  Little  Women, 

ought  not  to  spend  money  for  pleasure,  when  our  men 
are  suffering  so  in  the  army.  We  can't  do  much,  but 
we  can  make  our  little  sacrifices,  and  ought  to  do  it 
gladly.  But  I  am  afraid  I  dont ; "  and  Meg  shook 
her  head,  as  she  thought  regretfully  of  all  the  pretty 
things  she  wanted. 

"  But  I  don't  think  the  little  we  should  spend  would 
do  any  good.  We've  each  got  a  dollar,  and  the  army 
wouldn't  be  much  helped  by  our  giving  that.  I  agree 
not  to  expect  anything  from  mother  or  you,  but  I  do 
want  to  buy  Undine  and  Sintram  for  myself;  I've 
wanted  it  so  long,"  said  Jo,  who  was  a  bookworm. 

"  I  planned  to  spend  mine  in  new  music,"  said 
Beth,  with  a  little  sigh,  which  no  one  heard  but  the 
hearth-brush  and  kettle-holder. 

"  I  shall  get  a  nice  box  of  Faber's  drawing  pencils  ; 
T  really  need  them,"  said  Amy,  decidedly. 

"Mother  didn't  say  anything  about  our  money,  and 
she  won't  wish  us  to  give  up  everything.  Let's  each 
buy  what  we  want,  and  have  a  little  fun ;  I'm  sure 
we  grub  hard  enough  to  earn  it,"  cried  Jo,  examining 
the  heels  of  her  boots  in  a  gentlemanly  manner. 

"I  know  /  do,  —  teaching  those  dreadful  children 
nearly  all  day,  when  I'm  longing  to  enjoy  myself  at 
home,"  began  Meg,  in  the  complaining  tone  again. 

"You  don't  have  half  such  a  hard  time  as  I  do," 
said  Jo.  "  How  would  you  like  to  be  shut  up  for' 
hours  with  a  nervous,  fussy  old  lady,  who  keeps  you 
trotting,  is  never  satisfied,  and  worries  you  till  you're 
ready  to  fly  out  of  the  window  or  box  her  ears  ?  " 

"It's  naughty  to  fret,  —  but  I  do  think  washing 
dishes  and  keeping  things  tidy  is  the  worst  work  in 


Playing  Pilgrims,  9 

the  world.  It  makes  me  cross  ;  and  my  hands  get  so 
stift',  I  can't  practise  good  a  bit."  And  Beth  looked 
at  her  rough  hands  with  a  sigh  that  any  one  could 
hear  that  time. 

"  I  don't  believe  any  of  you  suffer  as  I  do,"  cried 
Amy ;  "  for  you  don't  have  to  go  to  school  with  im- 
pertinent girls,  who  plague  you  if  you  don't  know 
your  lessons,  and  laugh  at  your  dresses,  and  label 
your  father  if  he  isn't  rich,  and  insult  you  when  your 
nose  isn't  nice." 

"  If  you  mean  libel  I'd  say  so,  and  not  talk  about 
labels^  as  if  pa  was  a  pickle-bottle,"  advised  Jo, 
laughing. 

"  I  know  what  I  mean,  and  you  needn't  be  '  stati- 
rical '  about  it.  It's  proper  to  use  good  words,  and  im- 
prove your  vocabllary^'  returned  Amy,  with  dignity. 

"  Don't  peck  at  one  another,  children.  Don't  you 
wish  we  had  the  money  papa  lost  when  we  were 
little,  Jo?  Dear  me,  how  happy  and  good  we'd  be, 
if  we  had  no  worries,"  said  Meg,  who  could  remem- 
ber better  times. 

"  You  said  the  other  day  you  thought  we  were  a 
deal  happier  than  the  King  children,  for  they  were 
fighting  and  fretting  all  the  time,  in  spite  of  their 
money." 

"  So  I  did,  Beth.  Well,  I  guess  we  are  ;  for  though 
we  do  have  to  work,  we  make  fun  for  ourselves,  and 
are  a  pretty  jolly  set,  as  Jo  would  say." 

"Jo  does  use  such  slang  words,"  obsei"ved  Amy, 
with  a  reproving  look  at  the  long  figure  stretched  on 
the  rug.  Jo  immediately  sat  up,  put  her  hands  in  her 
apron  pockets,  and  began  to  whistle. 


lo  Little  Women, 

"Don't,  Jo;   if  s  so  boyish." 

"  Thaf  s  why  I  do  it." 

"  I  detest  rude,  unlady-like  girls." 

"  I  hate  affected,  niminy  piminy  chits." 

"  Birds  in  their  little  nests  agree,"  sang  Beth,  the 
peace-maker,  with  such  a  funny  face  that  both  sharp 
voices  softened  to  a  laugh,  and  the  "pecking"  ended 
for  that  time. 

'^Really,  girls,  you  are  both  to  be  blamed,"  said 
Meg,  beginning  to  lecture  in  her  elder  sisterly  fashion. 
"  You  are  old  enough  to  leave  off  boyish  tricks,  and 
behave  better,  Josephine.  It  didn't  matter  so  much 
when  you  were  a  little  girl ;  but  now  you  are  so  tall, 
and  turn  up  your  hair,  you  should  remember  that  you 
are  a  young  lady." 

"  I  ain't !  and  if  turning  up  my  hair  makes  me  one, 
I'll  wear  it  in  two  tails  till  I'm  twenty,"  cried  Jo,  pull- 
ing off  her  net,  and  shaking  down  a  chestnut  mane. 
"  I  hate  to  think  I've  got  to  grow  up  and  be  Miss 
March,  and  wear  long  gowns,  and  look  as  prim  as  a 
China-aster.  It's  bad  enough  to  be  a  girl,  any  w^ay, 
when  I  like  boy's  games,  and  work,  and  manners.  I 
can't  get  over  my  disappointment  in  not  being  a  boy, 
and  it's  worse  than  ever  now,  for  I'm  dying  to  go 
and  fight  with  papa,  and  I  can  only  stay  at  home  and 
knit  like  a  poky  old  woman  ;  "  and  Jo  shook  the  blue 
army-sock  till  the  needles  rattled  like  castanets,  and 
her  ball  bounded  across  the  room. 

"  Poor  Jo  ;  ifs  too  bad  !  But  it  can't  be  helped,  so 
you  must  try  to  be  contented  with  making  your  name 
boyish,  and  playing  brother  to  us  girls,"  said  Beth, 
stroking  the  rough  head  at  her  knee  with  a  hand  that 


Playing  Pilgrims.  ii 

all  the  dish-washing  and  dusting  in  the  world  could 
not  make  ungentle  in  its  touch. 

"  As  for  you,  Amy,"  continued  Meg,  "  you  are  alto- 
gether too  particular  and  prim.  Your  airs  are  funny 
now,  but  you'll  grow  up  an  affected  little  goose  if  you 
don't  take  care.  I  like  your  nice  manners,  and  refined 
ways  of  speaking,  when  you  don't  try  to  be  elegant ; 
but  your  absurd  words  are  as  bad  as  Jo's  slang." 

"  If  Jo  is  a  tom-boy,  and  Amy  a  goose,  what  am  I, 
please  ?  '*  asked  Beth,  ready  to  share  the  lecture. 

"  You're  a  dear,  and  nothing  else,"  answered  Meg, 
warmly  ;  and  no  one  contradicted  her,  for  the  "  Mouse" 
was  the  pet  of  the  family. 

As  young  readers  like  to  know  "  how  people  look," 
we  will  take  this  moment  to  give  them  a  little  sketch 
of  the  four  sisters,  who  sat  knitting  away  in  the  twi- 
light, while  the  December  snow  fell  quietly  without, 
and  the  fire  crackled  cheerfully  within.  It  was  a 
comfortable  old  room,  though  the  carpet  was  faded 
and  the  furniture  very  plain,  for  a  good  picture  or 
two  hung  on  the  walls,  books  filled  the  recesses, 
chrysanthemums  and  Christmas  roses  bloomed  in  the 
windows,  and  a  pleasant  atmosphere  of  home-peace 
pervaded  it. 

Margaret,  Uie  eldest  of  the  four,  was  sixteen,  and 
very  pretty,  being  plump  and  fair,  with  large  eyes, 
plenty  of  soft  brown  hair,  a  sweet  mouth,  and  white 
hands,  of  which  she  was  rather  vain.  Fifteen-year  old 
Jo  was  very  tall,  thin  and  brown,  and  reminded  one 
of  a  colt ;  for  she  never  seemed  to  know  what  to  do 
with  her  long  limbs,  which  were  very  much  in  her 
way.     She  had  a  decided  mouth,  a  comical  nose,  and 


12  Little  Women, 

sharp  gray  eyes,  which  appeared  to  see  everything, 
and  were  by  turns  fierce,  funny,  or  thoughtful.  Her 
long,  thick  hair  was  her  one  beauty ;  but  it  was  usu- 
ally bundled  into  a  net,  to  be  out  of  her  way.  Round 
shoulders  had  Jo,  big  hands  and  feet,  a  fly-away  look 
to  her  clothes,  and  the  uncomfortable  apjoearance 
of  a  girl  who  was  rapidly  shooting  up  into  a  wo- 
man, and  didn't  like  it.-  Elizabeth, —  or  Beth,  as 
every  one  called  her,  —  was  a  rosy,  smooth-haired, 
bright-eyed  girl  of  thirteen,  with  a  shy  manner,  a 
timid  voice,  and  a  peaceful  expression,  which  was 
seldom  disturbed.  Her  father  called  her  "Little 
Tranquillity,"  and  the  name  suited  her  excellently ;  for 
she  seemed  to  live  in  a  happy  world  of  her  own,  only 
venturing  out  to  meet  the  few  whom  she  trusted  and 
loved.  Amy,  though  the  youngest,  was  a  most  im- 
portant person,  in  her  own  opinion  at  least.  A  regu- 
lar snow  maiden,  with  blue  eyes,  and  yellow  hair 
curling  on  her  shoulders ;  pale  and  slender,  and 
always  carrying  herself  like  a  young  lady  mindful  of 
her  manners.  What  the  characters  of  the  four  sisters 
were,  we  will  leave  to  be  found  out. 

The  clock  struck  six ;  and,  having  swept  up  the 
hearth,  Beth  put  a  pair  of  slippers  down  to  warm. 
Somehow  the  sight  of  the  old  shoes  had  a  good  effect 
upon  the  girls,  for  mother  was  coming,  and  every  one 
brightened  to  welcome  her.  Meg  stopped  lecturing, 
and  lit  the  lamp.  Amy  got  out  of  the  easy-chair  with- 
out being  asked,  and  Jo  forgot  how  tired  she  was  as 
she  sat  up  to  hold  the  slippers  nearer  to  the  blaze. 

"  They  are  quite  worn  out ;  Marmee  must  have  a 
new  pair." 


Playing  Pilgrims,  1 3 

"  I  thought  I'd  get  her  some  with  my  dollar,"  said 
Beth. 

"  No,  I  shall ! "  cried  Amy. 
,     "  I'm  the  oldest,"  began  Meg,  but  Jo  cut  in  with  a 
decided  — 

"  I'm  the  man  of  the  family  now  papa  is  away,  and 
/  shall  provide  the  slippers,  for  he  told  me  to  take 
special  care  of  mother  while  he  was  gone." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  said  Beth  ;  "  let's  each 
get  her  something  for  Christmas,  and  not  get  anything 
for  ourselves." 

"  That's  like  you,  dear !  What  will  we  get? "  ex- 
claimed Jo. 

Eveiy  one  thought  soberly  for  a  minute ;  then  Meg 
announced,  as  if  the  idea  was  suggested  by  the  sight 
of  her  own  pretty  hands,  "  I  shall  give  her  a  nice  pair 
of  gloves." 

"  Army  shoes,  best  to  be  had,"  cried  Jo. 

"  Some  handkerchiefs,  all  hemmed,"  said  Beth. 

"I'll  get  a  little-bottle  of  Cologne;  she  likes  it,  and 
it  won't  cost  much,  so  I'll  have  some  left  to^uy  some- 
thing for  me,"  added  Amy. 

"  How  will  we  give  the  things  ?  "  asked  Meg. 

"  Put  'em  on  the  table,  and  bring  her  in  and  see  her 
open  the  bundles.  Don't  you  remember  how  we  used 
to  do  on  our  birthdays  ?  "  answered  Jo. 

"  I  used  to  be  so  frightened  when  it  was  my  turn 
to  sit  in  the  big  chair  with  a  crown  on,  and  see  you 
all  come  marching  round  to  give  the  presents,  with  a 
kiss.  I  liked  the  things  and  the  kisses,  but  it  was 
dreadful  to  have  you  sit  looking  at  me  while  I  opened 


14  Little  Woinen. 

the  bundles,"  said  Beth,  who  was  toasting  her  face 
and  the  bread  for  tea,  at  the  same  time. 

"  Let  Marmee  think  we  are  getting  things  for  our- 
selves, and  then  surprise  her.  We  must  go  shopping 
to-morrow  afternoon,  Meg ;  there  is  lots  to  do  about 
the  play  for  Christmas  night,"  said  Jo,  marching  up 
and  down  with  her  hands  behind  her  back,  and  her 
nose  in  the  air. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  act  any  more  after  this  time  ;  Fm 
getting  too  old  for  such  things,"  observed  Meg,  who 
was  as  much  a  child  as  ever  about  "  dressing  up " 
frolics. 

"You  won't  stop,  I  know,  as  long  as  you  can  trail 
round  in  a  white  gown  with  your  hair  down,  and 
wear  gold-paper  jewelry.  You  are  the  best  actress 
we've  got,  and  there  '11  be  an  end  of  everything  if  you 
quit  the  boards,"  said  Jo.  "  We  ought  to  rehearse  to- 
night ;  come  here.  Amy,  and  do  the  fainting  scene,  for 
you  are  as  stiff  as  a  poker  in  that." 

"  I  can't  help  it ;  I  never  saw  any  one  faint,  and  I 
don't  choose  to  make  myself  all  black  and  blue,  tum- 
bling flat  as  you  do.  If  I  can  go  down  easily,  I'll 
drop  ;  if  I  can't,  I  shall  fall  into  a  chair  and  be  grace- 
ful ;  I  don't  care  if  Hugo  does  come  at  me  with  a 
pistol,"  returned  Amy,  who  was  not  gifted  with  dra- 
matic power,  but  was  chosen  because  she  was  small 
enough  to  be  borne  out  shrieking  by  the  hero  of  the 
piece. 

"  Do  it  this  way  ;  clasp  your  hands  so,  and  stagger 
across  the  room,  crying  frantically,  '  Roderigo !  save 
me !  save  me ! ' "  and  away  went  Jo,  with  a  melo- 
dramatic scream  which  was  truly  thrilling. 


Playing  Pilgrims.  15 

Amy  followed,  but  she  poked  her  hands  out  stiffly 
before  her,  and  jerked  herself  along  as  if  she  went  by 
machinery  ;  and  her  "  Ow  !  "  was  more  suggestive  of 
pins  being  run  into  her  than  of  fear  and  anguish.  Jo 
gave  a  despairing  groan,  and  Meg  laughed  outright, 
while  Beth  let  her  bread  burn  as  she  watched  the  fun, 
witli  interest. 

"It's  no  use  !  do  the  best  you  can  when  the  time 
comes,  and  if  the  audience  shout,  don't  blame  me. 
Come  on,  Meg." 

Then  things  went  smoothly,  for  Don  Pedro  defied 
the  world  in  a  speech  of  two  pages  without  a  single 
break ;  Hagar,  the  witch,  chanted  an  awful  incanta- 
tion over  her  kettleful  of  simmering  toads,  with  weird 
effect ;  Roderigo  rent  his  chains  asunder  manfully, 
and  Hugo  died  in  agonies  of  remorse  and  arsenic, 
with  a  wild  "  Ha  !  ha  !  " 

"  It's  the  best  we've  had  yet,"  said  Meg,  as  the  dead 
villain  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  elbows. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  write  and  act  such  splen- 
did things,  Jo.  You  're  a  regular  Shakespeare !  " 
exclaimed  Beth,  who  firmly  believed  that  her  sisters 
were  gifted  with  wonderful  genius  in  all  things. 

"  Not  quite,"  replied  Jo,  modestly.  "  I  do  think 
'  The  Witch's  Curse,  an  Operatic  Tragedy,'  is  rather 
a  nice  thing ;  but  I'd  like  to  try  Macbeth,  if  we  only 
had  a  trap-door  for  Banquo.  I  always  wanted  to  do 
the  killing  part.  '  Is  that  a  dagger  that  I  see  before 
me .? ' "  muttered  Jo,  rolling  her  eyes  and  clutching  at 
the  air,  as  she  had  seen  a  famous  tragedian  do. 

"No,  ifs  the  toasting  fork,  with  ma's  shoe  on  it 
instead  of  the   bread.     Beth's   stage   struck!"    cried 


1 6  Little  Women, 

Meg,  and  the  rehearsal  ended  in  a  general  burst  of 
laughter. 

"  Glad  to  find  you  so  merry,  my  girls,"  said  a  cheeiy 
voice  at  the  door,  and  actors  and  audience  turned  to 
welcome  a  stout,  motherly  lady,  with  a  "  can-I-help- 
you  "  look  about  her  which  was  truly  delightful.  She 
wasn't  a  particularly  handsome  person,  but  mothers 
are  always  lovely  to  their  children,  and  the  girls 
thought  the  gray  cloak  and  unfashionable  bonnet  cov- 
ered the  most  splendid  woman  in  the  world. 

"Well,  dearies,  how  have  you  got  on  to-day? 
There  was  so  much  to  do,  getting  the  box^s  ready  to 
go  to-morrow,  that  I  didn't  come  home  to  dinner. 
Has  any  one  called,  Beth?  How  is  your  cold,  Meg? 
Jo,  you  look  tired  to  death.  Come  and  kiss  me, 
baby." 

While  making  these  maternal  inquiries  Mrs.  March 
got  her  wet  things  off,  her  hot  slippers  on,  and  sitting 
down  in  the  easy-chair,  drew  Amy  to  her  lap,  pre- 
paring to  enjoy  the  happiest  hour  of  her  busy  day. 
The  girls  flew  about,  trying  to  make  things  comfort- 
able, each  in  her  own  way.  Meg  arranged  the 
tea-table  ;  Jo  brought  wood  and  set  chairs,  dropping, 
overturning,  and  clattering  everything  she  touched ; 
Beth  trotted  to  and  fro  between  parlor  and  kitchen, 
quiet  and  busy ;  while  Amy  gave  directions  to  every 
one,  as  she  sat  with  her  hands  folded. 

As  they  gathered  about  the  table,  Mrs.  March  said, 
with  a  particularly  happy  face,  "  I've  got  a  treat  for 
you  after  supper." 

A  quick,  bright  smile  went  round  like  a  streak  of 
sunshine.     Beth  clapped  her  hands,  regardless  of  the 


Playing  Pilgrims,  1 7 

hot  biscuit  she  held,  and  Jo  tossecf  up  her  napkin,  cry- 
ing, "  A  letter  !  a  letter  !    Three  cheers  for  father  !  " 

"  Yes,  a  nice  long  letter.  He  is  well,  and  thinks 
he  shall  get  through  the  cold  season  better  than  we 
feared.  He  sends  all  sorts  of  loving  wishes  for  Christ- 
mas, and  an  especial  message  to  you  girls,"  said  Mrs. 
March,  patting  her  pocket  as  if  she  had  got  a  treasure 
there. 

"  Hurry  up,  and  get  done.  Don't  stop  to  quirk 
your  little  finger,  and  prink  over  3^our  plate.  Amy," 
cried  Jo,  choking  in  her  tea,  and  dropping  her  bread, 
butter  side  down,  on  the  carpet,  in  her  haste  to  get 
at  the  treat. 

Beth  ate  no  more,  but  crept  away,  t»  sit  in  her 
shadowy  corner  and  brood  over  the  delight  to  come, 
till  the  others  were  ready. 

"  I  think  it  was  so  splendid  in  father  to  go  as  a 
chaplain  when  he  was  too  old  to  be  drafted,  and 
not  strong  enough  for  a  soldier,"  said  Meg,  warmly. 

"  Don't  I  wish  I  could  go  as  a  drummer,  a  vivan — 
what's  itsjiame?  or  a  nurse,  so  I  could  be  near  him 
and  help  him,"  exclaimed  Jo,  with  a  groan. 

"  It  must  be  very  disagreeable  to  sleep  in  a  tent,  and 
eat  all  sorts  of  bad-tasting  things,  and  drink  out  of  a 
tin  mug,"  sighed  Amy. 

"  When  will  he  come  home,  Marmee.''"  asked  Beth, 
with  a  little  quiver  in  her  voice. 

"Not  for  many  months,  dear,  unless  he  is  sick. 
He  will  stay  and  do  his  work  faithfully  as  long  as  he 
jan,  and  we  won't  ask  for  him  back  a  minute  sooner 
than  he  can  be  spared.  Now  come  and  hear  the 
letter." 

2 


1 8  Little   Wo  men. 

They  all  drew  to  the  fire,  mother  in  the  big  chair 
with  Beth  at  her  feet,  Meg  and  Amy  perched  on  either 
arm  of  the  chair,  and  Jo  leaning  on  the  back,  where 
no  one  would  see  any  sign  of  emotion  if  the  letter 
should  happen  to  be  touching. 

Very  few  letters  were  written  in  those  hard  times 
that  were  not  touching,  especially  those  which  fathers 
sent  home.  In  this  one  little  was  said  of  the  hard- 
ships endured,  the  dangers  faced,  or  the  homesickness 
conquered  ;  it  was  a  cheerful,  hopeful  letter,  full  of 
lively  descriptions  of  camp  life,  marches,  and  military 
news  ;  and  only  at  the  end  did  the  writer's  heart  over- 
flow with  fatherly  love  and  longing  for  the  little  girls 
at  home. 

"  Give  them  all  my  dear  love  and  a  kiss.  Tell 
them  I  think  of  them  by  day,  pray  for  them  by  night, 
and  find  my  best  comfort  in  their  afiection  at  all  times. 
A  year  seems  very  long  to  wait  before  I  see  them,  but 
remind  them  that  while  we  wait  we  may  all  work,  so 
that  these  hard  days  need  not  be  wasted.  I  know 
they  will  remember  all  I  said  to  them,  that  they  will 
be  loving  children  to  you,  will  do  their  duty  faith- 
fully, fight  their  bosom  enemies  bravely,  and  t:onquer 
themselves  so  beautifully,  that  when  I  come  back  to 
them  I  may  be  fonder  and  prouder  than  ever  of  my 
little  women." 

Everybody  snified  when  they  came  to  that  part ;  Jo 
wasn't  ashamed  of  the  great  tear  that  dropped  off  the 
end  of  her  nose,  and  Amy  never  minded  the  rum- 
pling of  her  curls  as  she  hid  her  face  on  her  mother's 
shoulder  and  sobbed  out,  "I  am  a  selfish  pig!  but  I'll 


Playing  Pilgrims.  1 9 

truly  try  to  be  better,  so  he  mayn't  be  disappointed  in 
me  by  and  by." 

'^  We  all  will !  "  cried  Meg.  "  I  think  too  much  of 
'my  looks,  and  hate  to  work,  but  won't  any  more,  if  I 
can  help  it." 

"I'll  try  and  be  what  he  loves  to  call  me,  '  a  little 
woman,'  and  not  be  rough  and  wild;  but  do  my  duty 
here  instead  of  wanting  to  be  somewhere  else,"  said 
Jo,  thinking  that  keeping  her  temper  at  home  was  a 
much  harder  task  than  facing  a  rebel  or  two  down 
South. 

Beth  said  nothing,  but  wiped  away  her  tears  with 
the  blue  army-sock,  and  began  to  knit  with  all  her 
might,  losing  no  time  in  doing  the  duty  that  lay 
nearest  her,  while  she  resolved  in  her  quiet  little  soul 
to  be  all  that  father  hoped  to  find  her  when  the  year 
brought  roimd  the  happy  coming  home. 

Mrs.  March  broke  the  silence  that  followed  Jo's 
words,  by  saying  in  her  cheery  voice,  "  Do  you  re- 
member how  you  used  to  play  Pilgrim's  Progress 
when  you  were  little  things }  Nothing  delighted  you 
more  than  to  have  me  tie  my  piece-bags  on  your 
backs  for  burdens,  give  you  hats  and  sticks,  and  rolls 
of  paper,  and  let  you  travel  through  the  house  from 
the  cellar,  which  vvas  the  City  of  Destruction,  up,  up, 
to  the  house-top,  where  you  had  all  the  lovely  things 
you  could  collect  to  make  a  Celestial  City." 

"  What  fun  it  was,  especially  going  by  the  lions, 
fighting  Apollyon,  and  passing  through  the  Valley 
where  the  hobgoblins  were,"  said  Jo. 

"  I  liked  the  place  where  the  bundles  fell  off  and 
tumbled  down  stairs,"  said  Meg. 


20  Little   Women. 

"  My  favorite  part  was  when  we  came  out  on  the 
flat  roof  where  our  flowers  and  arbors,  and  pretty 
things  were,  and  all  stood  and  sung  for  joy  up  there  in 
the  sunshine,"  said  Beth,  smiling,  as  if  that  pleasant 
moment  had  come  back  to  her. 

"  I  don't  remember  much  about  it,  except  that  I 
was  afraid  of  the  cellar  and  the  dark  entry,  and 
always  liked  the  cake  and  milk' we  had  up  at  the  top. 
If  I  wasn't  too  old  for  such  things,  I'd  rather  like  to 
play  it  over  again,"  said  Amy,  who  began  to  talk  of 
renouncing  childish  things  at  the  mature  age  of  twelve. 

"  We  never  are  too  old  for  this,  my  dear,  because 
it  is  a  play  vsre  are  playing  all  the  time  in  one  way  or 
another.  Our  burdens  are  here,  our  road  is  before  us, 
and  the  longing  for  goodness  and  happiness  is  the 
guide  that  leads  us  through  many  troubles  and  mis- 
takes to  the  peace  which  is  a  true  Celestial  City. 
Now,  my  little  pilgrims,  suppose  you  begin  again,  not 
in  play,  but  in  earnest,  and  see  how  far  on  you  can 
get  before  father  comes  home." 

"Really,  mother.''  where  are  our  bundles.^"  asked 
Amy,  who  was  a  very  literal  young  lady. 

"  Each  of  you  told  what  your  burden  was  just  now, 
except  Beth  ;  I  rather  think  she  hasn't  got  any,"  said 
her  mother. 

"  Yes,  I  have  ;  mine  is  dishes  and  dusters,  and  envy- 
ing girls  with  nice  pianos,  and  being  afraid  of  people." 

Beth's  bundle  was  such  a  funny  one  that  everybody 
wanted  to  laugh  ;  but  nobody  did,  for  it  would  have 
hurt  her  feelings  ver}^  much. 

"  Let  us  do  it,"  said  Meg,  thoughtfully.  "  It  is  only 
another  name   for  trying   to  be  good,  and  the  story 


Playing  Pilgrims,  2 1 

may  help  us ;  for  though  we  do  want  to  be  good,  it's 
hard  work,  and  we  forget,  and  don't  do  our  best." 

"  We  were  in  the  Slough  of  Despond  to-night,  and 
mother  came  and  pulled  us  out  as  Help  did  in  the 
book.  We  ought  to  have  our  roll  of  directions,  like 
Christian.  What  shall  we  do  about  that  ?  "  asked  Jo, 
delighted  with  the  fancy  which  lent  a  little  romance 
to  the  very  dull  task  of  doing  her  duty. 

"Look  under  your  pillows,  Christmas  morning, 
and  you  will  find  your  guide-book,"  replied  Mrs. 
March.   /^ 

They(talked  over  the  new  plan  while  old  Hannah 
cleared  the  table  ;  then  out  came  the  four  little  work- 
baskets,  and  the  needles  flew  as  the  girls  made  sheets 
for  Aunt  March.  It  was  uninteresting  sewing,  but 
to-night  no  one  grumbled.  They  adopted  Jo's  plan 
of  dividing  the  long  seams  into  four  parts,  and  calling 
the  quarters  Europe,  Asia,  Africa  and  America,  and 
in  that  way  got  on  capitally,  especially  when  they 
talked  about  the  different  countries  as  they  stitched 
their  way  through  them. 

At  nine  they  stopped  work,  and  sung,  as  usual, 
before  they  went  to  bed.  No  one  but  Beth  could  get 
much  music  out  of  the  old  piano ;  but  she  had  a  way 
of  softly  touching  the  yellow  keys,  and  making  a 
pleasant  accompaniment  to  the  simple  songs  they 
sung.  Meg  had  a  voice  like  a  flute,  and  she  and  her 
mother  led  the  little  choir.  Amy  chirped  like  a 
cricket,  and  Jo  wandered  through  the  airs  at  her  own 
sweet  will,  always  coming  out  at  the  wrong  place 
with  a  crook  or  a  quaver  that  spoilt  the  most  pensive 


22  Little  Women, 

tune.  They  had  always  done  this  from  the  time  they 
could  lisp 

"  Crinkle,  crinkle,  'ittle  'tar," 

and  it  had  become  a  household  custom,  for  the  mother 
was  a  born  singer.  The  first  sound  in  the  morning 
was  her  voice,  as  she  went  about  the  house  singing 
like  a  lark ;  and  the  last  sound  at  night  was  the  same 
cheery  sound,  for  the  girls  never  grew  too  old  for  that 
familiar  lullaby. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A    MERRY    CHRISTMAS. 

JO  was  the  first  to  wake  in  the  gray  dawn  of 
Christmas  morning.  No  stockings  hung  at  the 
fireplace,  and  for  a  moment  she  felt  as  much 
disappointed  as  she  did  long  ago,  when  her  little  sock 
fell  down  because  it  was  so  crammed  with  goodies. 
Then  she  remembered  her  mother's  promise,  and 
slipping  her  hand  under  her  pillow,  drew  out  a  little 
crimson-covered  book.  She  knew  it  very  well,  for 
it  was  that  beautiful  old  story  of  the  best  life  ever 
lived,  and  Jo  felt  that  it  was  a  true  guide-book  for  any 
pilgrim  going  the  long  journey.  She  woke  Meg  with 
a  "Merry  Christmas,"  and  bade  her  see  what  was 
under  her  pillow.  A  green-covered  book  appeared, 
with  the  same  picture  inside,  and  a  few  words  written 
by  their  mother,  which  made  their  one  present  very 
precious  in  their  eyes.  Presently  Beth  and  Amy 
woke,  to  rummage  and  find  their  little  books  also,  — 
one  dove-colored,  the  other  blue ;  and  all  sat  looking 
at  and  talking  about  therfl,  while  the  East  grew  rosy 
with  the  coming  day. 

In  spite  of  her  small  vanities,  Margaret  had  a  sweet 

2^ 


24  Little  Women, 

and  pious  nature,  which  unconsciously  influence's  her 
sisters,  especially  Jo,  who  loved  her  very  tenderly,  and 
obeyed  her  because  her  advice  w^as  so  gently  given. 

"  Girls,"  said  Meg,  seriously,  looking  from  the 
tumbled  head  beside  her  to  the  two  little  night-capped 
ones  in  the  room  beyond,  "  mother  wants  us  to  read 
and  love  and  mind  these  books,  and  we  must  begin 
at  once.  We  used  to  be  faithful  about  it ;  but  since 
father  went  away,  and  all  this  war  trouble  unsettled 
us,  we  have  neglected  many  things.  You  can  do  as 
you  please ;  but  /  shall  keep  my  book  on  the  table 
here,  and  read  a  lit#fe  every  morning  as  soon  as  I 
wake,  for  I  know  it  will  do  me  good,  and  help  me 
through  the  day." 

Then  she  opened  her  new  book  and  began  to  read. 
Jo  put  her  arm  round  her,  and,  leaning  cheek  to 
cheek,  read  also,  with  the  quiet  expression  so  seldom 
seen  on  her  restless  face. 

"  How  good  Meg  is  !  Come,  Amy,  let's  do  as  they 
do.  I'll  help  you  with  the  hard  words,  and  they'll 
explain  things  if  we  don't  understand,"  whispered 
Beth,  very  much  impressed  by  the  pretty  books  and 
her  sisters'  example. 

"  I'm  glad  mine  is  blue,"  said  Amy  ;  and  then  the 
rooms  were  very  still  while  the  pages  were  softly 
turned,  and  the  winter  sunshine  crept  in  to  touch 
the  bright  heads  and  serious  faces  with  a  Christmas 
greeting. 

"Where  is  mother?"  asked  Meg,  as  she  and  Jo 
ran  down  to  thank  her  fof  their  gifts,  half  an  hour 
later. 

"  Goodness  only  knows.     Some  poor  creeter  come 


.  A  Merry  Christmas,  25 

a-beggin',  and  your  ma  went  straight  off'  to  see  what 
was  needed.  There  never  was  such  a  woman  for 
givin'  away  vittles  and  drink,  clothes  and  firin', "  re- 
plied Hannah,  who  had  lived  with  the  family  since 
Meg  was  born,  and  was  considered  by  them  all  more 
as  a  friend  than  a  servant. 

"  She  will  be  back  soon,  I  guess  ;  so  do  your  cakes, 
and  have  everything  ready,"  said  Meg,  looking  over 
the  presents  which  were  collected  in  a  basket  and  kept 
under  the  sofa,  ready  to  be  produced  at  the  proper 
time.  "Why,  where  is  Amy's  bottle  of  Cologne?"  she 
added,  as  the  little  flask  did  not  appear. 

"  She  took  it  out  a  minute  ago,  and  went  off*  with 
it  to  put  a  ribbon  on  it,  or  some  such  notion,"  replied 
Jo,  dancing  about  the  room  to  take  the  first  stiffness 
off' the  new  army-slippers. 

"How  nice  my  handkerchiefs  look,  dont  they? 
Hannah  washed  and  ironed  them  for  me,  and  I 
marked  them  all  myself,"  said  Beth,  looking  proudly 
at  the  somewhat  uneven  letters  which  had  cost  her 
such  labor. 

"Bless  the  child,  she's  gone  and  put  'Mother' 
on  them  instead  of  '  M.  March  ; '  how  funny  !  "  cried  Jo, 
taking  up  one. 

"Isn't  it  right?  I  thought  it  was  better  to  do  it 
so,  because  Meg's  initials  are  '  M.  M.,'  and  I  don't 
want  any  one  to  use  these  but  Marmee,"  said  Beth, 
looking  troubled. 

"It's  all  right,  dear,  and  a  very  pretty  idea;  quite 
sensible,  too,  for  no  one  -can  ever  mistake  now.  It 
will  please  her  very  much,  I  know,"  said  Meg,  with 
a  frown  for  Jo,  and  a  smile  for  Beth. 


26  Little  Women, 

"  There's  mother  :  hide  the  basket,  quick  !  "  cried  Jo, 
as  a  door  slammed,  and  steps  sounded  in  the  hall. 

Amy  came  in  hastily,  and  looked  rather  abashed 
when  she  saw  her  sisters  all  waiting  for  her. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  and  what  are  you  hiding 
behind  you  ?  "  asked  Meg,  surprised  to  see,  by  her  hood 
and  cloak,  that  lazy  Amy  had  been  out  so  early. 

"  Don't  laugh  at  me,  Jo,  I  didn't  mean  any  one 
should  know  till  the  time  came.  I  only  meant  to  change 
the  little  bottle  for  a  big  one,  and  I  gave  all  my  money 
to  get  it,  and  I'm  truly  trying  not  to  be  selfish  any 
more." 

As  she  spoke.  Amy  showed  the  handsome  flask  which 
replaced  the  cheap  one  ;  and  looked  so  earnest  and 
humble  in  her  little  effort  to  forget  herself,  that  Meg 
hugged  her  on  the  spot,  and  Jo  pronounced  her  "  a 
trump,"  while  Beth  ran  to  the  window,  and  picked 
her  finest  rose  to  ornament  the  stately  bottle. 

"  You  see  I  felt  ashamed  of  my  present,  after 
reading  and  talking  about  being  good  this  morning,  so 
I  ran  round  the  corner  and  changed  it  the  minute  I 
was  up  ;  and  I'm  so  glad,  for  mine  is  the  handsomest 
now." 

Another  bang  of  the  street-door  sent  the  basket 
under  the  sofa,  and  the  girls  to  the  table  eager  for 
breakfast. 

"  Merry  Christmas,  Marmee  !  Lots  of  them  !  Thank 
you  for  our  books ;  we  read  some,  and  mean  to  every 
day,"  they  cried,  in  chorus. 

"  Merry  Christmas,  little  daughters  !  I'm  glad  you 
began  at  once,  and  hope  you  will  keep  on.  But  I 
want  to   say  one  word   before  we   sit  down.     Not  far 


A  Merry  Christmas.  27 

aw  ay  from  here  lies  a  poor  woman  with  a  little  new- 
born baby.  Six  children  are  huddled  into  one  bed  to 
keep  from  freezing,  for  they  have  no  fire.  There  is 
nothing  to  eat  over  there  ;  arid  the  oldest  boy  came  to 
tell  me  they  were  suffering  hunger  and  cold.  My  girls, 
will  you  give  them  your  breakfast  as  a  Christmas 
present?" 

They  were  all  unusually  hungry,  having  waited 
nearly  an  hour,  and  for  a  minute  no  one  spoke  ;  only 
a  minute,  for  Jo  exclaimed  impetuously,  — ■ 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  came  before  we  began  !  " 

"  May  I  go  and  help  carry  the  things  to  the  poor 
little  children?"  asked  Beth,  eagerly. 

"/  shall  take  the  cream  and  the  muflins,"  added 
Amy,  heroically  giving  up  the  articles  she  most  liked. 

]\Ieg  was  already  covering  the  buckwheats,  and 
piling  the  bread  into  one  big  plate. 

"  I  thought  you'd  do  it,"  said  Mrs.  March,  smiling 
as  if  satisfied.  "You  shall  all  go  and  help  me,  and 
when  we  come  back  we  will  have  bread  and  milk  for 
breakfast,  and  make  it  up  at  dinner-time." 

They  were  soon  ready,  and  the  procession  set  out. 
Fortunately  it  was  early,  and  they  went  through  back 
streets,  so  few  people  saw  them,  and  no  one  laughed 
at  the  funny  party. 

A  poor,  bare,  miserable  room  it  was,  with  broken 
windows,  no  fire,  ragged  bed-clothes,  a  sick  mother, 
wailing  baby,  and  a  group  of  pale,  hungr}^  children 
cuddled  under  one  old  quilt,  trying  to  keep  w^arm. 
How  the  big  eyes  stared,  and  the  blue  lips  smiled,  as 
the  girls  went  in  ! 


28  Little  Women, 

"Ach,  mein  Gott !  it  is  good  angels  come  to  us!" 
cried  the  poor  woman,  crying  for  joy. 

"  Funny  angels  in  hoods  and  mittens,"  said  Jo,  and 
set  them  laughing. 

In  a  few  minutes  it  really  did  seem  as  if  kind  spirits 
had  been  at  work  there.  Hannah,  who  had  carried 
wood,  made  a  fire,  and  stopped  up  the  broken  panes 
with  old  hats,  and  her  own  shawl.  Mrs.  March  gave 
the  mother  tea  and  gruel,  and  comforted  her  with 
promises  of  help,  while  she  dressed  the  little  baby  as 
tenderly  as  if  it  had  been  her  own.  The  girls,  mean- 
time, spread  the  table,  set  the  children  round  the  fire, 
and  fed  them  like  so  many  hungry  birds ;  laughing, 
talking,  and  trying  to  understand  the  funny  broken 
English. 

"Das  ist  gute!"  "  Der  angel-kinder!"  cried  the 
poor  things,  as  they  ate,  and  warmed  their  purple 
hands  at  the  comfortable  blaze.  The  girls  had  never 
been  called  angel  children  before,  and  thought  it  very 
agreeable,  especially  Jo,  who  had  been  considered  "  a 
Sancho  "  ever  since  she  was  born.  That  was  a  very 
happy  breakfast,  though  they  didn't  get  any  of  it ;  and 
when  they  went  away,  leaving  comfort  behind,  I  think 
there  were  not  in  all  the  city  four  merrier  people  than 
the  hungry  little  girls  who  gave  away  their  breakfasts, 
and  contented  themselves  with  bread  and  milk  on 
Christmas  morning. 

"  That's  loving  our  neighbor  better  than  ourselves, 
and  I  like  it,"  said  Meg,  as  they  set  out  their  presents, 
while  their  mother  was  up  stairs  collecting  clothes  for 
the  pdor  Hummels. 

Not  a  very  splendid  show,  but  there  was  a  great 


A  Merry  Christmas.  29 

deal  of  love  done  up  in  the  few  little  bundles ;  and  the 
tall  vase  -of  red  roses,  white  chrysanthemums,  and 
trailing  vines,  which  stood  in  the  middle,  gave  quite 
an  elegant  air  to  the  table. 

"  She's  coming !  strike  up,  Beth,  open  the  door, 
Amy.  Three  cheers  for  Marmee  !  "  cried  Jo,  pranc- 
ing about,  while  Meg  went  to  conduct  mother  to  the 
seat  of  honor.    - 

Beth  played  her  gayest  march.  Amy  threw  open  the 
door,  and  Meg  enacted  escort  with  great  dignity. 
Mrs.  March  was  both  surprised  and  touched ;  and 
smiled  with  her  eyes  full  as  she  examined  her 
presents,  and  read  the  little  notes  which  accom- 
panied them.  The  slippers  went  on  at  once,  a  new 
handkerchief  was  slipped  into  her  pocket,  well  scented 
with  Amy's  Cologne,  the  rose  was  fastened  in  her 
bosom,  and  the  nice  gloves  were  pronounced  "  a  per- 
fect fit." 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  laughing,  and  kissing, 
and  explaining,  in  the  simple,  loving  fashion  which 
makes  these  home-festivals  so  pleasant  at  the  time,  so 
sweet  to  remember  long  afterward,  and  then  all  fell  to 
work. 

The  morning  charities  and  ceremonies  took  so 
much  time,  that  the  rest  of  the  day  was  devoted  to 
preparations  for  the  evening  festivities.  Being  still 
too  young  to  go  often  to  the  theatre,  and  not  rich 
enough  to  afford  any  great  outlay  for  private  perform- 
ances, the  girls  put  their  wits  to  work,  and,  necessity 
being  the  mother  of  invention,  made  whatever  they 
needed.  Very  clever  were  some  of  their  produc- 
tions ;  paste-board    guitars,    antique    lamps    made    of 


3  o  L  it  tie   Wo  m  e  n . 

old-fashioned  butter-boats,  covered  with  silver  paper, 
gorgeous  robes  of  old  cotton,  glittering  with  tin  span- 
gles from  a  pickle  factory,  and  armor  covered  Vv-ith 
the  same  useful  diamond-shaped  bits,  left  in  sheets 
when  the  lids  of  tin  presei'\^e-pots  were  cut  out.  The 
furniture  was  used  to  being  turned  topsy-tin-\y,  and 
the  big  chamber  was  the  scene  of  many  innocent 
revels. 

No  gentlemen  w^ere  admitted  ;  so  Jo  played  male 
parts  to  her  heart's  content,  and  took  immense  satis- 
faction in  a  pair  of  russet-leather  boots  given  her  by  a 
friend,  who  knew  a  lady  who  knew  an  actor.  These 
boots,  an  old  foil,  and  a  slashed  doublet  once  used  by 
an  artist  for  some  picture,  were  Jo's  chief  treasures, 
and  appeared  on  all  occasions.  The  smallness  of  the 
company  made  it  necessary  for  the  two  principal 
actors  to  take  several  parts  apiece  ;  and  they  certainly 
deserved  some  credit  for  the  hard  work  they  did  in 
learning  three  or  four  different  parts,  w^hisking  in  and 
out  of  various  costumes,  and  managing  the  stage  be- 
sides. It  was  excellent  drill  for  their  memories,  a 
harmless  amusement,  and  employed  many  hours 
w4iich  othenvise  would  have  been  idle,  lonety,  or 
spent  in  less  profitable  society. 

On  Christmas  night,  a  dozen  girls  piled  on  to  th^ 
bed,  v^hich  was  the  dress  circle,  and  sat  before  the 
blue  and  yellow  chintz  curtains,  in  a  most  flattering 
state  of  expectancy.  There  was  a  good  deal  of 
rustling  and  whispering  behind  the  curtain,  a  trifle 
of  lamp-smoke,  and  an  occasional  giggle  from  Amy, 
who  was  apt  to  get  hysterical  in  the  excitement  of  the 


A  Merry  Christmas,  31 

moment.  Presently  a  bell  sounded,  the  curtains  flew 
apart,  and  the  Operatic  Tragedy  began. 

"  A  gloomy  wood,"  according  to  the  one  pla3^-bill, 
was  represented  by  a  few  shrubs  in  pots,  a  green 
baize  on  the  floor,  and  a  cave  in  the  distance.  This 
cave  was  made  with  a  clothes-horse  for  a  roof, 
bureaus  for  walls;- and  in  it  was  a  small  furnace  in 
full  blast,  with  a  black  pot  on  it,  and  an  old  witch 
bending  over  it.  The  stage  was  dark,  and  the  glow 
of  the  furnace  had  a  fine  effect,  especially  as  real 
steam  issued  from  the  kettle  when  the  witch  took  oft^ 
the  cover.  A  moment  was  allowed  for  the  first  thrill 
40  subside  ;  then  Hugo,  the  villain,  stalked  in  with  a 
clanking  sword  at  his  side,  a  slouched  hat,  black 
beard,  mj^sterious  cloak,  and  the  boots.  After  pacing 
to  and  fro  in  much  agitation,  he  struck  his  forehead, 
and  burst  out  in  a  wild  strain,  singing  of  his  hatred  to 
Roderigo,  his  love  for  Zara,  and  his  pleasing  resolu- 
tion to  kill  the  one  and  win  the  other.  The  gruft' 
tones  of  Hugo's  voice,  with  an  occasional  shout  when 
his  feelings  overcame  him,  were  very  impressive,  and 
the  audience  applauded  the  moment  he  paused  for 
breath.  Bowing  with  the  air  of  one  accustomed  to 
public  praise,  he  stole  to  the  cavern  and  ordered 
Hagar  to  come  forth  with  a  commanding  "  What  ho  ! 
minion  !  I  need  thee  !  " 

Out  came  Meg,  with  gray  horse-hair  hanging  about 
her  face,  a  red  and  black  robe,  a  staft^,  and  cabalistic 
signs  upon  her  cloak.  Hugo  demanded  a  potion  to 
make  Zara  adore  him,  and  one  to  destroy  Roderigo. 
Hagar,  in  a  fine  dramatic  melody,  promised  both,  and 


32       '  Little  Women. 

proceeded  to  call  up  the  spirit  who  would  bring  the 
love  philter :  — 

"  Hither,  hither,  from  thj  home. 
Airy  sprite,  I  bid  thee  come ! 
Born  of  roses,  fed  on  dew. 
Charms  and  potions  canst  thou  brew? 
Bring  me  here,  with  elfin  speed, 
The  fragrant  philter  which  I  need ; 
Make  it  sweet,  and  swift  and  strong; 
Spirit,  answer  now  my  song !  "  * 

A  soft  strain  of  music  sounded,  and  then  at  the 
back  of  the  cave  appeared  a  little  figure  in  cloudy 
white,  with  glittering  wings,  golden  hair,  and  a  gar* 
land  of  roses  on  its  head.  Waving  a  wand,  it 
sung : — 

"  Hither  I  come, 

From  my  airy  home. 
Afar  in  the  silver  moon ; 

Take  the  magic  spell. 

Oh,  use  it  well ! 
Or  its  power  will  vanish  soon  !  " 

and  dropping  a  small  gilded  bottle  at  the  witch's  feet, 
the  spirit  vanished.  Another  chant  from  Hagar  pro- 
duced another  apparition,  —  not  a  lovely  one,  for, 
with  a  bang,  an  ugly,  black  imp  appeared,  and 
having  croaked  a  reply,  tossed  a  dark  bottle  at  Hugo, 
and  disappeared  with  a  mocking  laugh.  Having 
warbled  his  thanks,  and  put  the  potions  in  his  boots, 
Hugo  departed ;  and  Hagar  informed  the  audience 
that,  as  he  had  killed  a  few  of  her  friends  in  times 
past,  she  has  cursed  him,  and  intends  to  thwart  his 


A  Merry  Christmas,  33 

plans,  and  be  revenged  on  him.  Then  the  curtain 
fell,  and  the  audience  reposed  and  ate  candy  while 
discussing  the  merits  of  the  play. 

A  good  deal  of  hammering  went  on  before  the  cur- 
tain rose  again ;  but  when  it  became  evident  what  a 
masterpiece  of  stage  carpentering  had  been  got  up, 
no  one  murmured  at  the  delay.  It  was  truly  superb  ! 
A  tower  rose  to  the  ceiling ;  half-way  up  appeared  a 
window  with  a  lamp  burning  at  it,  and  behind  the 
white  curtain  appeared  Zara  in  a  lovely  blue  and 
silver  dress,  waiting  for  Roderigo.  He  came,  in 
gorgeous  array,  with  plumed  cap,  red  cloak,  chestnut 
love-locks,  a  guitar,  and  the  boots,  of  course.  Kneel- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  tower,  he  sung  a  serenade  in 
melting  tones.  Zara  replied,  and  after  a  musical  dia 
logue,  consented  to  fly.  Then  came  the  grand  effect 
of  the  play.  Roderigo  produced  a  rope-ladder  with 
five  steps  to  it,  threw  up  one  end,  and  invited  Zara  to 
descend.  Timidly  she  crept  from  her  lattice,  put  her 
hand  on  Roderigo's  shoulder,  and  was  about  to  leap 
gracefully  down,  when,  "alas,  alas  for  Zara!"  she 
forgot  her  train,  —  it  caught  in  the  window ;  the 
tower  tottered,  leaned  forward,  fell  with  a  crash,  and 
buried  the  unhappy  lovers  in  the  ruins ! 

A  universal  shriek  arose  as  the  russet  boots  waved 
wildly  from  the  wreck,  an^  a  golden  head  emerged, 
exclaiming,  "  I  told  you  so  !  I  told  you  so ! "  With 
wonderful  presence  of  mind  Don  Pedro,  the  cruel  sire, 
rushed  in,  dragged  out  his  daughter  with  a  hasty 
aside,  — 

"  Don't  laugh,  act  as  if  it  was  all  right ! "  and 
ordering  Roderigo  up,  banished  him  from  the  kingdom 


34  Little  Women. 

with  wrath  and  scorn.  Though  decidedly  shaken  by 
the  fall  of  the  tower  upon  him,  Roderigo  defied  the  old 
gentleman,  and  refused  to  stir.  This  dauntless  example 
fired  Zara ;  she  also  defied  her  sire,  and  he  ordered 
them  both  to  the  deepest  dungeons  of  the  castle.  A 
stout  little  retainer  came  in  with  chains,  and  led  them 
away,  looking  very  much  frightened,  and  evidently  for- 
getting the  speech  he  ought  to  have  made. 

Act  third  was  the  castle  hall ;  and  here  Hagar 
appeared,  having  come  to  free  the  lovers  and  finish 
Hugo.  She  hears  him  coming,  and  bides ;  sees  him 
put  the  potions  into  two  cups  of  wine,  and  bid  thfe 
timid  little  servant  "  Bear  them  to  the  captives  4Sk 
their  cells,  and  tell  them  I  shall  come  anon."  The 
servant  takes  Hugo  aside  to  tell  him  something,  and 
Hagar  changes  the  cups  for  two  others  which  are 
harmless.  Ferdinando,  the  "  minion,"  carries  them 
away,  and  Hagar  puts  back  the  cup  which  holds  the 
poison  meant  for  Roderigo.  Hugo,  getting  thirsty 
after  a  long  warble,  drinks  it,  loses  his  wits,  and  after 
a  good  deal  of  clutching  and  stamping,  falls  flat  and 
dies ;  while  Hagar  informs  him  what  she  has  done  in 
a  song  of  exquisite  power  and  melody. 

This  was  a  truly  thrilling  scene ;  though  some 
persons  might  have  thought  that  the  sudden  tiunbling 
down  of  a  quantity  of  long  hair  rather  marred  the 
effect  of  the  villain's  death.  He  was  called  before  the 
curtain,  and  with  great  propriety  appeared  leading 
Hagar,  whose  singing  was  considered  more  wonder- 
ful than  all  the  rest  of  the  performance  put  together. 

Act  fourth  displayed  the  despairing  Roderigo  on 
the  point  of  stabbing  himself,  because  he  has  been  told 


A  Merry  Christmas,  35 

that  Zara  has  deserted  him.  Just  as  the  dagger  is  at 
his  heart,  a  lovely  song  is  sung  under  his  window,  in- 
forming him  that  Zara  is  true,  but  in  danger,  and  he  can 
save  her  if  he  will.  A  key  is  thrown  in,  which  unlocks 
the  doeir,  and  in  a  spasm  of  rapture  he  tears  off  his 
chains,  and  rushes  away  to  find  and  rescue  his  lady- 
love. 

Act  fifth  opened  with  a  stormy  scene  between 
Zara  and  Don  Pedro.  He  wishes  her  to  go  into  a 
convent,  but  she  won't  hear  of  it ;  and,  after  a  touching 
am)eal,  is  about  to  faint,  when  Roderigo  dashes  in  and 

«ands  her  hand.  Don  Pedro  refuses,  because  he  is 
rich.  They  shout  and  gesticulate  tremendously, 
but  cannot  agree,  and  Roderigo  is  about  to  bear  away 
the  exhausted  Zara,  when  the  timid  servant  enters  with 
a  letter  and  a  bag  from  Hagar,  who  has  mysteriously 
disappeared.  The  latter  informs  the  party  that  she 
bequeaths  untold  wealth  to  the  young  pair,  and  an 
awful  doom  to  Don  Pedro  if  he  doesn't  make  them 
happy.  The  bag  is  opened,  and  several  quarts  of 
tin  money  shower  down  upon  the  stage,  till  it  is 
quite  glorified  with  the  glitter.  This  entirely  softens 
the  "stern  sire;"  he  consents  without  a  murmur,  all 
join  in  a  joyful  chorus,  and  the  curtain  falls  upon  the 
lovers  kneeling  to  receive  Don  Pedro's  blessing,  in 
attitudes  of  the  most  romantic  grace. 

Tumultuous  applause  followed,  but  received  an 
unexpected  check;  for  the  cot-bed  on  which  the 
"  dress  circle  "  was  built,  suddenly  shut  up,  and  extin- 
guished the  enthusiastic  audience.  Roderigo  and  Don 
Pedro  flew  to  the  rescue,  and  all  were  taken  out  un- 
hurt, though  many  were  speechless  with  laughter.  The 


36  Little  Wofitet?. 

excitement  had  hardly  subsided  when  Hannah  ap- 
peared, with  "  Mrs.  March's  compliments,  and  would 
the  ladies  walk  down  to  supper." 

This  was  a  surprise,  even  to  the  actors ;  and  when 
they  saw  the  table  they  looked  at  one  another^  rap- 
turous amazement.  It  was  like  "  Marmee  "  to  get  up 
a  little  treat  for  them,  but  anything  so  fine  as  this  was 
unheard  of  since  the  departed  days  of  plenty.  There 
was  ice  cream,  actually  two  dishes  of  it,  —  pink  and 
white,  —  and  cake,  and  fruit,  and  distracting  French 
bonbons,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  table  four  great  bo%- 
quets  of  hot-house  flowers  !  ^|P 

It  quite  took  their  breath  away  ;  and  they  stared  first 
at  the  table  and  then  at  their  mother,  who  looked  as  if 
she  enjoyed  it  immensely. 
"  Is  it  fairies?  "  asked  Amy. 
"  It's  Santa  Claus,"  said  Beth. 

"  Mother  did  it ;  "  and  Meg  smiled  her  sweetest,  111 
spite  of  her  gi'ay  beard  and  white  eyebrows. 

"  Aunt  March  had  a  good  fit,  and  sent  the  supper," 
cried  Jo,  with  a  sudden  inspiration. 

"  All  wrong ;  old  Mr.  Laurence  sent  it,"  replied 
Mrs.  March. 

"  The  Laurence  boy's  grandfather !  What  in  the 
world  put  such  a  thing  into  his  head  ?  We  don't  know 
him,"  exclaimed  Meg. 

"  Hannah  told  one  of  his  servants  about  your  break- 
fast party ;  he  is  an  odd  old  gentleman,  but  that 
pleased  him.  He  knew  my  father,  years  ago,  and  he 
sent  me  a  polite  note  this  afternoon,  saying  he  hoped 
I  would  allow  him  to  express  his  friendly  feeling 
toward  my  children  by  sending  them  a  few  trifles  in 


A  Merry  Christmas,  2>*1 

honor  of  the  day.  I  could  not  refuse,  and  so  you  have 
a  little  feast  at  night  to  make  up  for  the  bread  and 
milk  breakfast." 

"  That  boy  put  it  into  his  head,  I  know  he  did ! 
He's  a  capital  fellow,  and  I  wish  we  could  get  ac- 
quainted. He  looks  as  if  he'd  like  to  know  us ;  but 
he's  bashful,  and  Meg  is  so  prim  she  won't  let  me 
speak  to  him  when  we  pass,"  said  Jo,  as  the  plates 
went  round,  and  the  ice  began  to  melt  out  of  sight, 
with  ohs  !  and  ahs  !   of  satisfaction. 

"You  mean  the  people  who  live  in  the  big  house 
ftext  door,  don't  you?"  asked  one  of  the  girls.  "My 
mother  knows  old  Mr.  Laurence,  but  says  he's  very 
proud,  and  don't  like  to  mix  with  his  neighbors.  He 
keeps  his  grandson  shut  up  when  he  isn't  riding  or 
Vk^alking  with  his  tutor,  and  makes  him  study  dreadful 
hard.  We  invited  him  to  our  party,  but  he  didn't 
come.  Mother  says  he's  very  nice,  though  he  never 
speaks  to  us  girls." 

"  Our  cat  ran  away  once,  and  he  brought  her. back, 
and  we  talked  over  the  fence,  and  were  getting  on 
capitally,  all  about  cricket,  and  so  on,  when  he  saw 
Meg  coming,  and  walked  off.  I  mean  to  know  him 
some  day,  for  he  needs  fun,  I'm  sure  he  does,"  said 
Jo,  decidedly. 

"  I  like  his  manners,  and  he  looks  like  a  little  gen- 
tleman, so  I've  no  objection  to  your  knowing  him  if  a 
proper  opportunity  comes.  He  brought  the  flowers 
himself,  and  I  should  have  asked  him  in  if  I  had  been 
sure  what  was  going  on  up  stairs.  He  looked  so 
wistful  as  he  went  away,  hearing  the  frolic,  and  evi- 
dently having  none  of  his  own.'* 


38  Little  Women, 

"It's  a  mercy  you  didn't,  mother,"  laughed  Jo, 
looking  at  her  boots.  "  But  we'll  have  another  play 
some  time,  that  he  ca7i  see.  Maybe  he'll  help  act ; 
wouldn't  that  be  jolly  ?  " 

"  I  never  had  a  bouquet  before  ;  how  pretty  it  is," 
and  Meg  examined  her  flowers  with  great  interest. 

"  They  are  lovely,  but  Beth's  roses  are  sweeter  to 
me,"  said  Mrs.  March,  sniffing  at  the  half  dead  posy 
in  her  belt. 

Beth  nestled  up  to  her,  and  whispered,  softly,  "  I 
wish  I  could  send  my  bunch  to  father.  I'm  afraid  he 
isn't  having  such  a  merry  Christmas  as  we  are." 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE     LAURENCE     BOY. 

J'O !  Jo!  where  are  you?"   cried  Meg,  at  the  foot 
of  the  garret  stairs. 

"  Here,"  answered  a  husky  voice  from  above  ; 
and  running  up,  Meg  found  her  sister  eating  apples 
and  crying  over  the  "  Heir  of  Redcliffe,"  wrapped  up 
in  a  comforter  on  an  old  three-legged  sofa  by  the  sunny 
window.  This  was  Jo's  favorite  refuge  ;  and  here  she 
loved  to  retire  with  half  a  dozen  russets  and  a  nice 
book,  to  enjoy  the  quiet  and  the  society  of  a  pet  rat 
who  lived  near  by,  and  didn't  mind  her  a  particle. 
As  Meg  appeared,  Scrabble  whisked  into  his  hole. 
Jo  shook  the  tears  off  her  cheeks,  and  waited  to  hear 
the  news. 

"  Such  fun  !  only  see  !  a  regular  note  of  invitation 
from  Mrs.  Gardiner  for  to-morrow  night ! "  cried 
Meg,  waving  the  precious  paper,  and  then  proceeding 
to  read  it,  with  girlish  delight. 

" '  Mrs.  Gardiner  would  be  happy  to  see  Miss 
March  and  Miss  Josephine  at  a  little  dance  on  New- 
Year' s-Eve.'  Marmee  is  willing  we  should  go  ;  now 
what  shall  we  wear  t  " 

39 


40  Little  Women. 

"Whafs  the  use  of  asking  that,  when  you  know 
we  shall  wear  our  poplins,  because  we  haven't  got 
anything  else,"  answered  Jo,  with  her  mouth  full. 

"  If  I  only  had  a  silk  !  "  sighed  Meg  ;  "  mother  says 
I  may  when  I'm  eighteen,  perhaps  ;  but  two  years  is 
an  everlasting  time  to  wait." 

"I'm  sure  our  pops  look  like  silk,  and  they  are  nice 
enough  for  us.  Yours  is  as  good  as  new,  but  I  forgot 
the  burn  and  the  tear  in  mine  ;  whatever  shall  I  do  ? 
the  burn  shows  horridly,  and  I  can't  take  any  out." 

"  You  must  sit  still  all  you  can,  and  keep  your  back 
out  of  sight ;  the  front  is  all  right.  I  shall  have  a  new 
ribbon  for  my  hair,  and  Marmee  will  lend  me  her 
little  pearl  pin,  and  my  new  slippers  are  lovely,  and 
my  gloves  will  do,  though  they  aren't  as  nice  as  I'd 
like." 

"Mine  are  spoilt  with  lemonade,  and  I  can't  get 
any  new  ones,  so  I  shall  have  to  go  without,"  said  Jo, 
who  never  troubled  herself  much  about  dress. 

"  You  must  have  gloves,  or  I  won't  go,"  cried  Meg, 
decidedly.  "  Gloves  are  more  important  than  any- 
thing else  ;  you  can't  dance  without  them,  and  if  you 
don't  I  should  be  so  mortified." 

"  Then  I'll  stay  still ;  I  don't  care  much  for  com- 
pany dancing ;  if  s  no  fun  to  go  sailing  round,  I  like  to 
fly  about  and  cut  capers." 

"  You  can't  ask  mother  for  new  ones,  they  are  so 
expensive,  and  you  are  so  careless.  She  said,  when 
you  spoilt  the  others,  that  she  shouldn't  get  you  any 
more  this  winter.  Can't  you  fix  them  any  way.?" 
asked  Meg,  anxiously. 

"  I  can  hold  them  crunched  up  in  my  hand,  so   no 


The  Laurence  Boy,  41 

one  will  know  how  stained  they  are  ;  that's  all  I  can 
do.  No !  I  '11  tell  you  how  we  can  manage  —  each 
wear  one  good  one  and  carry  a  bad  one  ;  don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  Your  hands  are  bigger  than  mine,  and  you  will 
stretch  my  glove  dreadfully,"  began  Meg,  whose 
gloves  were  a  tender  point  with  her. 

"  Then  I'll  go  without.  I  don't  care  what  people 
say,"  cried  Jo,  taking  up  her  book. 

"  You  may  have  it,  you  may !  only  don't  stain  it, 
and  do  behave  nicely ;  don't  put  your  hands  behind 
you,  or  stare,  or  say  '  Christopher  Columbus !  *  will 
you?" 

"  Don't  worry  about  me  ;  I'll  be  as  prim  as  a  dish, 
and  not  get  into  any  scrapes,  if  I  can  help  it.  Now 
go  and  answer  your  note,  and  let  me  finish  this  splen- 
did story." 

So  Meg  went  away  to  "  accept  with  thanks,"  look 
over  her  dress,  and  sing  blithely  as  she  did  up  her  one 
real  lace  frill ;  while  Jo  finished  her  story,  her  four 
apples,  and  had  a  game  of  romps  with  Scrabble. 

On  New- Year' s-Eve  the  parlor  was  deserted,  for  the 
two  younger  girls  played  dressing  maids,  and  the  two 
elder  were  absorbed  in  the  all-important  business  of 
"  getting  ready  for  the  party."  Simple  as  the  toilets 
were,  there  was  a  great  deal  of  running  up  and  down, 
laughing  and  talking,  and  at  one  time  a  strong  smell 
of  burnt  hair  pervaded  the  house.  Meg  wanted  -a  few 
curls  about  her  face,  and  Jo  undertook  to  pinch  the 
papered  locks  with  a  pair  of  hot  tongs. 

"Ought  they  to  smoke  like  that?"  asked  Beth, from 
her  perch  on  the  bed. 

"  If  s  the  dampness  drying,"  replied  Jo. 


42  Little  Wo7nen, 

"  What  a  queer  smell !  it's  like  burnt  feathers,"  ob- 
served Amy,  smoothing  her  own  pretty  curls  with  a 
superior  air. 

"  There,  now  I'll  take  oft'  the  papers  and  you'll  see 
a  cloud  of  little  ringlets,"  said  Jo,  putting  down  the 
tongs. 

She  did  take  off'  the  papers,  but  no  cloud  of  ringlets 
appeared,  for  the  hair  came  with  the  papers,  and  the 
horrified  hair-dresser  laid  a  row  of  little  scorched 
bundles  on  the  bureau  before  her  victim. 

"  Oh,  oh,  oh!  what  have  you  done?  I'm  spoilt! 
I  can't  go  !  my  hair,  oh  my  hair  !  "  wailed  Meg,  look- 
ing with  despair  at  the  uneven  frizzle  on  her  forehead. 

"Just  my  luck!  you  shouldn't  have  asked  me  to  do 
it ;  I  always  spoil  everything.  I'm  no  end  sorry,  but 
the  tongs  were  too  hot,  and  so  I've  made  a  mess," 
groaned  poor  Jo,  regarding  the  black  pancakes  with 
tears  of  regi'et. 

"  It  isn't  spoilt ;  just  frizzle  it,  and  tie  your  ribbon 
so  the  ends  come  on  your  forehead  a  bit,  and  it  will 
look  like  the  last  fashion.  I've  seen  lots  of  girls  do  it 
so,"  said  Amy,  consolingly. 

"  Serves  me  right  for  trying  to  be  fine.  I  wish  Fd 
let  my  hair  alone,"  cried  Meg,  petulantly. 

"So  do  I,  it  Was  so  smooth  and  pretty.  But  it  will 
soon  grow  out  again,"  said  Beth,  coming  to  kiss  and 
comfort  the  shorn  sheep. 

After  various ,  lesser  mishaps,  Meg  was  finished  at 
last,  and  by  the  united  exertions  of  the  family  Jo's 
hair  was  got  up,  and  her  dress  on.  They  looked  very 
well  in  their  simple  suits,  Meg  in  silvery  drab,  with  a 
blue  velvet  snood,  lace  frills,  and  the  pearl  pin ;  Jo  in 


The  Laurence  Boy,  43 

maroon,  with  a  stiff,  gentlemanly  linen  collar,  and  a 
white  chrysanthemum  or  two  for  her  only  ornament. 
Each  put  on  one  nice  light  glove,  and  carried  one 
soiled  one,  and  all  pronounced  the  effect  "  quite  easy 
and  nice."  Meg's  high-heeled  slippers  were  dread- 
fully tight,  and  hurt  her,  though  she  would  not  own 
it,  and  Jo's  nineteen  hair-pins  all  seemed  stuck  straight 
into  her  head,  which  was  not  exactly  comfortable  ;  but, 
dear  me,  let  us  be  elegant  or  die. 

"  Have  a  good  time,  dearies,"  said  Mrs.  March,  as 
the  sisters  went  daintily  down  the  walk.  "  Don't  eat 
much  supper,  and  come  away  at  eleven,  when  I  send 
Hannah  for  you."  As  the  gate  clashed  behind  them, 
a  voice  cried  from  a  window,  — 

"  Girls,  girls  !  have  you  both  got  nice  pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs?" 

"Yes,  yes,  spandy  nice,  and  Meg  has  Cologne  on 
hers,"  cried  Jo,  adding,  with  a  laugh,  as  they  went 
on,  "  I  do  believe  Marmee  would  ask  that  if  we  were 
all  running  away  from  an  earthquake." 

"  It  is  one  of  her  aristocratic  tastes,  and  quite  proper, 
for  a  real  lady  is  always  known  by  neat  boots,  gloves, 
and  handkerchief,"  replied  Meg,  who  had  a  good 
many  little  "  aristocratic  tastes  "  of  her  own. 

"  Now  don't  forget  to  keep  the  bad  breadth  out  of 
sight,  Jo.  Is  my  sash  right ;  and  does  my  hair  look 
very  ha.d? "  said  Meg,  as  she  turned  from  the  glass 
in  Mrs.  Gardiner's  dressing-room,  after  a  prolonged 
prink. 

"  I  know  I  shall  forget.  If  you  see  me  doing  any- 
thing wrong,  you  just   remind    me   by  a  wink,  will 


44  Little  Women.         ' 

you  ?  "  returned  Jo,  giving  her  collar  a  twitch  and  her 
head  a  hasty  brush. 

"  No,  winking  isn't  lady-like  ;  I'll  lift  my  eyebrows 
if  anything  is  wrong,  and  nod  if  you  are  all  right. 
Now  hold  your  shoulders  straight,  and  take  short 
steps,  and  don't  shake  hands  if  you  are  introduced  to 
any  one,  it  isn't  the  thing." 

"  How  do  you  learn  all  the  proper  quirks?  I  never 
can.     Isn't  that  music  gay.^"' 

Down  they  went,  feeling  a  trifle  timid,  for  they  sel- 
dom went  to  parties,  and,  informal  as  this  little  gather- 
ing was,  it  was  an  event  to  them.  Mrs.  Gardiner,  a 
stately  old  lady,  greeted  them  kindly,  and  handed  them 
over  to  the  eldest  of  her  six  daughters.  Meg  knew 
Sallie,  and  was  at  her  ease  very  soon ;  but  Jo,  who 
didn't  care  much  for  girls  or  girlish  gossip,  stood 
about  with  her  back  carefully  against  the  wall,  and 
felt  as  much  out  of  place  as  a  colt  in  a  flower-garden. 
Half  a  dozen  jovial  lads  were  talking  about  skates  in 
another  part  of  the  room,  and  she  longed  to  go  and 
join  them,  for  skating  was  one  of  the  joys  of  her  life. 
She  telegraphed  her  wish  to  Meg,  but  the  eyebrows 
went  up  so  alarmingly  that  she  dared  not  stir.  No 
one  came  to  talk  to  her,  and  one  by  one  the  group 
near  her  dwindled  away,  till  she  was  left  alone.  She 
could  not  roam  about  and  amuse  herself,  for  the  burnt 
breadth  would  show,  so  she  stared  at  people  rather 
forlornly  till  the  dancing  began.  Meg  was  asked  at 
once,  and  the  tight  slippers  tripped  about  so  briskly 
that  none  would  have  guessed  the  pain  their  wearer 
suffered  smilingly.  Jo  saw  a  big  red-headed  youth 
approaching   her    corner,    and   fearing   he   meant   to 


The  Laurence  Boy,  45 

engage  her,  she  slipped  into  a  curtained  recess,  intend- 
ing to  peep  and  enjoy  herself  in  peace.  Unfortunately, 
another  bashful  person  had  chosen  the  same  refuge ; 
for,  as  the  curtain  fell  behind  her,  she  found  herself 
face  to  face  with  the  "  Laurence  boy." 

"  Dear  me,  I  didn't  know  any  one  was  here ! " 
stammered  Jo,  preparing  to  back  out  as  speedily  as 
she  had  bounced  in. 

But  the  boy  laughed,  and  said,  pleasantly,  though 
he  looked  a  little  startled,  — 

"  Don't  mind  me  ;  stay,  if  you  like.'' 

"Shan't  I  disturb  you?" 

"  Not  a  bit ;  I  only  came  here  because  I  don't  know 
many  people,  and  felt  rather  strange  at  first,  you 
know." 

"  So  did  I.  Don't  go  away,  please,  unless  you'd 
rather." 

The  boy  s^t  down  again  and  looked  at  his*  boots, 
till  Jo  said,  trying  to  be  polite  and  easy,  — 

"  I  think  I've  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  before  ; 
you  live  near  us,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Next  door  ; "  and  he  looked  up   and  laughed  out-  . 
right,  for  Jo's  prim  manner  was  rather  funny  when  he 
remembered  how  they  had  chatted  about  cricket  when 
he  brought  the  cat  home. 

That  put  Jo  at  her  ease  ;  and  she  laughed  too,  as  she 
said,  in  her  heartiest  way,  — 

"  We  did  have  such  a  good  time  over  your  nice 
Christmas  present.". 

"  Grandpa  sent  it." 

"  But  you  put  it  into  his  head,  didn't  you,  now.^* " 

"  How  is  your  cat,  Miss  March }  "   asked  the  boy. 


46  Little  Women, 

trying  to  look  sober,  while  his  black  eyes  shone  witt 
fun.  ' 

"  Nicely,  thank  you,  Mr.  Laurence ;  but  I  ain't 
Miss  March,  I'm  only  Jo,"  returned  the  young  lady. 

"  I'm  not  Mr.  Laurence,  I'm  only  Laurie." 

"  Laurie  Laurence  ;  what  an  odd  name." 

"  My  first  name  is  Theodore,  but  I  don't  like  it, 
for  the  fellows  called  me  Dora,  so  I  made  them  say- 
Laurie  instead." 

"  I  hate  my  name,  too  —  so  sentimental !  I  wish 
everyone  would  say  Jo,  instead  of  Josephine.  How 
did  you  make  the  boys  stop  calling  you  Dora  ?  " 

"  I  thrashed  'em." 

"I  can't  thrash  Aunt  March,  so  I  suppose  I  shall 
have  to  bear  it ;  "  and  Jo  resigned  herself  with  a  sigh. 

"  Don't  you  like  to  dance,  Miss  Jo?  "  asked  Laurie, 
looking  as  if  he  thought  the  name  suited  her. 

"  I  like  it  well  enough  if  there  is  plenty  of  room,"  and 
every  one  is  lively.  In  a  place  like  this  I'm  sure  to 
upset  something,  tread  on  people's  toes,  or  do  something 
dreadful,  so  I  keep  out  of  mischief,  and  let  Meg  do  the 
pretty.     Don't  you  dance  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  ;  you  see  I've  been  abroad  a  good  many 
years,  and  haven't  been  about  enough  yet  to  know  how 
you  do  things  here." 

"Abroad!"  cried  Jo,  "oh,  tell  me  about  it!  I 
love  dearly  to  hear  people  describe  their  travels." 

Laurie  didn't  seem  to  know  where  to  begin  ;  but  Jo's 
eager  questions  soon  set  him  going,  and  he  told  her 
how  he  had  been  at  school  in  Vevey,  where  the 
boys  never  wore  hats,  and  had  a  fleet  of  boats  on  the 


The  Laurence  Boy,  47 

lake,  and  for  holiday  fun  went  walking  trips  about 
Switzerland  with  their  teachers. 

"  Don't  I  wish  I'd  been  there ! "  cried  Jo.  "  Did 
you  go  to  Paris  ?  " 

"  We  spent  last  winter  there." 

"  Can  you  talk  French?" 

"  We  were  not  allowed  to  speak  anything  else  at 
Vevey." 

"  Do  say  some.     I  can  read  it,  but  can't  pronounce." 

"  Quel  nom  a  cette  jeune  demoiselle  en  les  pantoufles 
jolis.'*"  said  Laurie,  good-naturedly. 

"How  nicely  you  do  it!  Let  me  see  —  you  said, 
'  Who  is  the  young  lady  in  the  pretty  slippers,'  didn't 
you?" 

"  Oui,  mademoiselle." 

"  If  s  my  sister  Margaret,  and  you  knew  it  was !  Do 
you  think  she  is  pretty  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  she  makes  me  think  of  the  German  girls,  she 
looks  so  fresh  and  quiet,  and  dances  like  a  lady." 

Jo  quite  glowed  with  pleasure  at  this  boyish  praise 
of  her  sister,  and  stored  it  up  to  repeat  to  Meg.  Both 
peeped,  and  criticised,  and  chatted,  till  they  felt  like 
old  acquaintances.  Laurie's  bashfulness  soon  wore  off, 
for  Jo's  gentlemanly  demeanor  amused  and  set  him  at 
his  ease,  and  Jo  was  her  merry  self  again,  because  her 
dress  was  forgotten,  and  nobody  lifted  their  eyebrows 
at  her.  She  liked  the  "  Laurence  boy "  better  than 
ever,  and  took  several  good  looks  at  him,  so  that 
she  might  describe  him  to  the  girls ;  for  they  had  no 
brothers,  very  few  male  cousins,  and  boys  were  al- 
most unknown  creatures  to  them. 

"  Curly  black  hair,  brown  skin,  big  black  eyes,  long 


48  Little  Women, 

nose,  nice  teeth,  little  hands  and  feet,  tall  as  I  am ; 
very  polite  for  a  boy,  and  altogether  jolly.  Wonder 
how  old  he  is  ? " 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Jo's  tongue  to  ask ;  but  she 
checked  herself  in  time,  and,  with  unusual  tact,  tried  to 
find  out  in  a  roundabout  way. 

"I  suppose  you  are  going  to  college  soon ?  I  see 
j^ou  pegging  away  at  your  books  —  no,  I  mean  stud}^- 
ing  hard  ;"  and  Jo  blushed  at  the  dreadful  "pegging" 
which  had  escaped  her. 

Laurie  smiled,  but  didn't  seem  shocked,  and  an- 
swered, with  a  shrug, — 

"  Not  for  two  or  three  years  yet ;  I  won't  go  before 
seventeen,  any  way." 

"  Aren't  you  but  fifteen?  "  asked  Jo,  looking  at  the 
tall  lad,  whom  she  had  imagined  seventeen  already. 

"  Sixteen,  next  month." 

"  How  I  wish  I  was  going  to  college ;  you  don't 
look  as  if  you  liked  it." 

*'  I  hate  it !  nothing  but  grinding  or  sky-larking  ;  and 
I  don't  like  the  way  fellows  do  either,  in  this  country." 

"What  do  you  like?" 

"  To  live  in  Italy,  and  to  enjoy  myself  in  my  own 
way." 

Jo  wanted  very  much  to  ask  what  his  ow^n  way  was  ; 
but  his  black  brows  looked  rather  threatening  as  he 
knit  them,  so  she  changed  the  subject  by  saying,  as  her 
foot  kept  time,  "  That's  a  splendid  polka  ;  why  don't 
you  go  and  try  it  ?  " 

"If  you  will  come  too,"  he  answered,  with  a  queer 
little  French  bow. 

"I  can't;  for   I   told  Meg  I  wouldn't,  because  — " 


The  Laurence  Boy,  49 

there  Jo  stopped,  and  looked  undecided  whether  to 
tell  or  to  laugh. 

"  Because  what?"  asked  Laurie,  curiously. 

"You  won't  tell?" 

"  Never ! " 

"  Well,  I  have  a  bad  trick  of  standing  before  the 
fire,  and  so  I  burn  my  frocks,  and  I  scorched  this 
one ;  and,  though  it's  nicely  mended,  it  shows,  and 
Meg  told  me  to  keep  still,  so  no  one  would  see  it. 
You  may  laugh  if  you  want  to  ;  it  is  funny,  I  know." 

But  Laurie  didn't  laugh ;  he  only  looked  down  a 
minute,  and  the  expression  of  his  face  puzzled  Jo, 
when  he  said  very  gently,  — 

"  Never  mind  that ;  I'll  tell  you  how  we  can  man- 
age :  there's  a  long  hall  out  there,  and  we  can  dance 
gi'andly,  and  no  one  will  see  us.     Please  come." 

Jo  thanked  him,  and  gladly  went,  wishing  she  had 
two  neat  gloves,  when  she  saw  the  nice  pearl-colored 
ones  her  partner  put  on.  The  hall  was  empty,  and 
they,had  a  grand  polk,  for  Laurie  danced  well,  and 
taught  her  the  German  step,  which  delighted  Jo, 
being  full  of  swing  and  spring.  When  the  music 
stopped  they  sat  down  on  the  stairs  to  get  their 
breath,  and  Laurie  was  in  the  midst  of  an  account  of 
a  student's  festival  at  Heidelberg,  when  Meg  appeared 
in  search  of  her  sister.  She  beckoned,  and  Jo  reluc- 
tantly followed  her  into  a  side-room,  where  she  found 
her  on  a  sofa  holding  her  foot,  and  looking  pale. 

"  Fve  sprained  my  ankle.  That  stupid  high  heel 
turned,  and  gave  me  a  horrid  wrench.  It  aches  so,  I 
can  hardly  stand,  and  I  don't  know  how  I'm  ever 
•       4 


50  Little  Women, 

going  to  get  home,"  she  said,  rocking  to  and  fro  in 
pain. 

"I  knew  you'd  hurt  your  feet  with  those  silly 
things.  I'm  sorry ;  but  I  don't  see  what  you  can 
do,  except  get  a  carriage,  or  stay  here  all  night," 
answered  Jo,  softly  rubbing  the  poor  ankle,  as  she 
spoke. 

"  I  can't  have  a  carriage  without  its  costing  ever  so 
much  ;  I  dare  say  I  can't  get  one  at  all,  for  most  peo- 
ple come  in  their  own,  and  it's  a  long  way  to  the 
stable,  and  no  one  to  send." 

"  I'll  go." 

"  Noj  indeed  ;  it's  past  ten,  and  dark  as  Egypt.  I 
can't  stop  here,  for  the  house  is  full ;  Sallie  has  some 
girls  staying  with  her.  I'll  rest  till  Hannah  comes, 
and  then  do  the  best  I  can." 

"  I'll  ask  Laurie ;  he  will  go,"  said  Jo,  looking 
relieved  as  the  idea  occurred  to  her. 

"Mercy,  no!  don't  ask  or  tell  any  one.  Get  me 
my  rubbers,  and  put  these  slippers  with  our  things. 
I  can't  dance  any  more ;  but  as  soon  as  supper  is 
over,  watch  for  Hannah,  and  tell  me  the  minute  she 
comes." 

"  They  are  going  out  to  supper  now.  I'll  stay  with 
you  ;  I'd  rather." 

"No,  dear;  run  along,  and  bring  me  some  coffee. 
I'm  so  tired,  I  can't  stir." 

So  Meg  reclined,  with  the  rubbers  well  hidden, 
and  Jo  went  blundering  away  to  the  dining-room, 
which  she  found  after  going  into  a  china-closet  and 
opening  the  door  of  a  room  where  old  Mr.  Gardiner 
was  taking  a  little   private   refreshment.*   Making  a 


The  Laurence  Boy,  51 


dive  at  the  table,  she  secured  the  coffee,  which  she 
immediately  spilt,  thereby  making  the  front  of  her 
dress  as  bad  as  the  back. 

"  Oh  dear !  what  a  blunderbuss  I  am  !  "  exclaimed 
Jo,  finishing  Meg's  glove  by  scrubbing  her  gow^n 
with  it. 

"Can  I  help  you?"  said  a  friendly  voice;  and 
there  was  Laurie,  with  a  full  cup  in  one  hand  and  a 
plate  of  ice  in  the  other. 

"  I  was  trying  to  get  something  for  Meg,  who  is 
very  tired,  and  some  one  shook  me,  and  here  I  am, 
in  a  nice  state,"  answered  Jo,  glancing,  dismally, 
from  the  stained  skirt  to  the  coffee-colored  glove. 

"  Too  bad  !  I  was  looking  for  some  one  to  give  this 
to  ;  may  I  take  it  to  your  sister  ?  " 

"  Oh,  thank  "you  ;  I'll  show  you  where  she  is.  I 
don't  offer  to  take  it  myself,  for  I  should  only  get  into 
another  scrape  if  I  did." 

Jo  led  the  way  ;  and,  as  if  used  to  waiting  on  ladies, 
Laurie  drew  up  a  little  table,  brought  a  second  instal- 
ment of  coffee  and  ice  for  Jo,  and  was  so  obliging  that 
even  particular  Meg  pronounced  him  a  "  nice  boy." 
They  had  a  merry  time  over  the  bonbons  and  mottos, 
and  were  in  the  midst  of  a  quiet  game  of  "  buzz  "  with 
two  or  three  other  young  people  who  had  strayed  in, 
when  Hannah  appeared.  Meg  forgot  her  foot,  and 
rose  so  quickly  that  she  vs^as  forced  to  catch  hold  of 
Jo,  with  an  exclamation  of  pain. 

"  Hush  !  don't  say  anything,"  she  whispered  ;  add- 
ing aloud,  "  It's  nothing ;  I  turned  my  foot  a  little,  — 
that's  all,"  and  limped  up  stairs  to  put  her  things  on. 

Hannah   scolded,   Meg   cried,  and  Jo  was  at  her 


52  Little  Wo?nen, 

wits'  end,  till  she  decided  to  take  things  into  her  own 
hands.  Slipping  out,  she  ran  down,  and  finding  a 
servant,  asked  if  he  could  get  her  a  carriage.  It  hap- 
pened to  be  a  hired  w^aiter,  who  knew  nothing  about 
the  neighborhood ;  and  Jo  was  looking  round  for 
help,  when  Laurie,  who  had  heard  what  she  said, 
came  up  and  offered  his  grandfather's  carriage,  which 
had  just  come  for  him,  he  said. 

"  It's  so  early,  —  you  can't  mean  to  go  yet,"  began 
Jo,  looking  relieved,  but  hesitating  to  accept  the  offer. 

"I  always  go  early, — I  do,  truly.  Please  let  me 
take  you  home ;  it's  all  on  my  way,  you  know,  and  it 
rains,  they  say." 

That  settled  it ;  and  telling  him  of  Meg's  mishap, 
Jo  gratefully  accepted,  and  rushed  up  to  bring  down 
the  rest  of  the  party.  Hannah  hated  rain  as  much  as 
a  cat  does  ;  so  she  made  no  trouble,  and  they  rolled 
away  in  the  luxurious  close  carriage,  feeling  very  fes- 
tive and  elegant.  Laurie  went  on"  the  box,  so  Meg 
could  keep  her  foot  up,  and  the  girls  talked  over  their 
party  in  freedom. 

*' I  had  a  capital  time ;  did  you.?"  asked  Jo,  rum- 
pling up  her  hair,  and  making  herself  comfortable. 

"Yes,  till  I  hurt  myself.  Sallie's  friend,  Annie 
Moffat,  took  a  fancy  to  me,  and  asked  me  to  come  and 
spend  a  week  with  her  when  Sallie  does.  She  is 
going  in  the  spring,  when  the  opera  comes,  and  it 
will  be  perfectly  splendid  if  mother  only  lets  me  go," 
answered  Meg,  cheering  up  at  the  thought. 

"  I  saw  you  dancing  with  the  red-headed  man  I  ran 
away  from  ;  was  he  nice  ?  " 

"  Oh,  very !  his  hair  is  auburn,  not  red ;  and  he 


The  Laurence  Boy.  53 

was  very  polite,  and  I  had  a  delicious  redowa  with 
him!" 

"  Pie  looked  like  a  grasshopper  in  a  fit,  when  he 
did  the  new  step.  Laurie  and  I  couldn't  help  laugh- 
ing ;  did  you  hear  us?  " 

''  No,  but  it  was  very  rude.  What  were,  you  about 
all  that  time,  hidden  away  there.'*" 

Jo  told  her  adventures,  and  by  the  time  she  had 
finished  they  were  at  home.  With  many  thanks,  they 
said  "  Good-night,"  and  crept  in,  hoping  to  disturb 
no  one ;  but  the  instant  their  door  creaked,  two  little 
night-caps  bobbed  up,  and  two  sleepy  but  eager  voices 
cried  out,  —^ 

"  Tell  about  the  party  !  tell  about  the  party  !  " 

With  what  Meg  called  "  a  great  want  of  manners," 
Jo  had  saved  some  bonbons  for  the  little  girls,  and 
they  soon  subsided,  after  hearing  the  most  thrilling 
events  of  the  evening. 

"  I  declare,  it  really  seems  like  being  a  fine  young 
lady,  to  come  home  from  my  party  In  my  carriage, 
and  sit  in  my  dressing-gown  with  a  maid  to  wait  on 
me,"  said  Meg,  as  Jo  bound  up  her  foot  with  arnica, 
and  brushed  her  hair. 

"  I  don't  believe  fine  young  ladles  enjoy  themselves 
a  bit  more  than  we  do,  in  spite  of  our  burnt  hair,  old 
gowns,  one  glove  apiece,  and  tight  slippers,  that  sprain 
our  ankles  when  we  are  silly  enough  to  wear  them.*' 
And  I  think  Jo  was  quite  right. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


BURDENS. 


OH  dear,  how  hard  it  does  seem  to  ,take  up  our 
packs  and  go  on,"  sighed  Meg,  the  morning 
after  the  partly  ;  for  now  the  holidays  were  over, 
the  week  of  merry-making  did  not  fit  her  for  going 
on  easily  with  the  task  she  never  liked. 

"  I  wish  it  was  Christmas  or  New-Year  all  the 
time;  wouldn't  it  be  fun?"  answered  Jo,  yawning 
dismally. 

"We  shouldn't  enjoy  ourselves  half  so  much  as  we 
do  now.  But  it  does  seem  so  nice  to  have  little  sup- 
pers and  bouquets,  and  go  to  parties,  and  drive  home 
in  a  carriage,  and  read  and  rest,  and  not  grub.  It's 
like  other  people,  3^ou  know,  and  I  always  envy  girls 
who  do  such  things ;  I'm  so  fond  of  luxury,"  said 
Meg,  ti-ying  to  decide  which  of  two  shabby  gowns 
was  the  least  shabby. 

"  Well,  we  can't  have  it,  so  don't  let's  grumble,  but 

shoulder  our  bundles  and  trudge  along  as  cheerfully  as 

Marmee  does.     I'm  sure  Aunt  March  is  a  regular  Old 

Man  of  the  Sea  to  me,  but  I  suppose  when  I've  learned 

54 


Burdens.  55 

to  carry  her  without  complaining,  she  will  tumble 
ofl",  or  get  so  light  that  I  shan't  mind  her." 

This  idea  tickled  Jo's  fancy,  and  put  her  in  good 
spirits  ;  but  Meg  didn't  brighten,  for  her  burden,  con- 
sisting of  four  spoilt  children,  seemed  heavier  than 
ever.  She  hadn't  heart  enough  even  to  make  herself 
pretty,  as  usual,  by  putting  on  a  blue  neck-ribbon,  and 
dressing  her  hair  in  the  most  becoming  way. 

"  Where's  the  use  of  looking  nice,  when  no  one  sees 
me  but  those  cross  midgets,  and  no  one  cares  whether 
I'm  pretty  or  not,"  she  muttered,  shutting  her  drawer 
with  a  jerk.  "  I  shall  have  to  toil  and  .  moil  all  my 
days,  with  only  little  bits  of  fun  now  and  then,  and 
get  old  and  ugly  and  sour,  because  I'm  poor,  and  can't 
enjoy  my  life  as  other  girls  do.     It's  a  shame  !  " 

So  Meg  went  down,  wearing  an  injured  look,  and 
wasn't  at  all  agreeable  at  breakfast-time.  Every  one 
seemed  rather  out  of  sorts,  and  inclined  to  croak. 
Beth  had  a  headache,  and  lay  on  the  sofa  trying  to 
comfort  herself  with  the  cat  and  three  kittens ;  Amy 
was  fretting  because  her  lessons  were  not  learned,  and 
she  couldn't  find  her  rubbers ;  Jo  would  whistle,  and 
make  a  great  racket  getting  ready ;  Mrs.  March  was 
very  busy  trying  to  finish  a  letter,  which  must  go  at 
once ;  and  Hannah  had  the  grumps,  for  being  up  late 
didn't  suit  her. 

"  There  never  was  such  a  cross  family!"  cried  Jo. 
losing  her  temper  when  she  had  upset  an  inkstand, 
broken  both  boot-lacings,  and  sat  down  upon  her  hat. 

"  You're  the  crossest  person  in  it !  "  returned  Amy, 
washing  out  the  sum,  that  was  all  wrong,  with  the 
fears  that  had  fallen  on  her  slate 


56  Little  Women, 

"  Beth,  if  you  don't  keep  these  horrid  cats  do-wn 
cellar  I'll  have  them  drowned,"  exclaimed  Meg,  an- 
grily, as  she  tried  to  get  rid  of  the  kitten,  who  had 
swarmed  up  her  back,  and  stuck  like  a  burr  just  out 
of  reach. 

Jo  laughed,  Meg  scolded,  Beth  implored,  and  Amy 
wailed,  because  she  couldn't  remember  how  much 
nine  times  twelve  was. 

"  Girls  !  girls  !  do  be  quiet  one  minute.  I  must  get 
this  off  by  the  early  mail,  and  you  drive  me  distracted 
with  your  worry,"  cried  Mrs.  March,  crossing  out  the 
third  spoilt  sentence  in  her  letter. 

There  was  a  momentary  lull,  broken  by  Hannah, 
who  bounced  in,  laid  two  hot  turn-overs  on  the  table, 
and  bounced  out  again.  These  turn-overs  were  an 
institution  ;  and  the  girls  called  them  "  muffs,"  for  they 
had  no  others,  and.  found  the  hot  pies  very  comforting 
to  their  hands  on  cold  mornings.  Hannah  never 
forgot  to  make  them,  no  matter  how  busy  or  grumpy 
she  might  be,  for  the  walk  was  long  and  bleak ;  the 
poor  things  got  no  other  lunch,  and  were  seldom  home 
before  three. 

"  Cuddle  your  cats,  and  get  over  your  headache, 
Bethy.  Good-by,  Marmee  ;  we  are  a  set  of  rascals 
this  morning,  but  we'll  come  home  regular  angels. 
Now  then,  Meg,"  and  Jo  tramped  away,  feeling  that 
the  pilgrims  were  not  setting  out  as  they  ought  to  do. 

They  always  looked  back  before  turning  the  corner, 
for  their  mother  was  always  at  the  window,  to  nod, 
and  smile,  and  wave  her  hand  to  them.  Somehow  it 
seemed  as  if  they  couldn't  have  got  through  the  day 
without  that,   for  whatever  their  mood    might  be,  the 


Burdens,  57 

last  glimpse  of  that  motherly  face  was  sure  to  affect 
them  like  sunshine. 

"  If  Marmee  shook  her  fist  instead  of  kissing  her 
hand  to  us,  it  would  serve  us  right,  for  more  un- 
grateful minxes  than  we  are  were  never  seen,"  cried 
Jo,  taking  a  remorseful  satisfaction  in  the  slushy  road 
and  bitter  wind. 

"Don't  use  such  dreadful  expressions,"  said  Meg, 
from  the  depths  of  the  veil  in  which  she  had  shrouded 
herself  like  a  nun  sick  of  the  world. 

"  I  like  good,  strong  words,  that  mean  something," 
replied  Jo,  catching  her  hat  as  it  took  a  leap  off  her 
head,  preparatory  to  flying  away  altogether. 

"  Call  yourself  any  names  you  like ;  but  /  am 
neither  a  rascal  nor  a  minx,  and  I  don't  choose  to  be 
called  so." 

"  You're  a  blighted  being,  and  decidedly  cross  to- 
day, because  you  can't  sit  in  the  lap  of  luxury  all  the 
time.  Poor  dear !  just  wait  till  I  make  my  fortune, 
and  you  shall  revel  in  carriages,  and  ice-cream,  and 
high-heeled  slippers,  and  posies,  and  red-headed  boys 
to  dance  with." 

"  How  ridiculous  you  are,  Jo  !  "  but  Meg  laughed 
at  the  nonsense,  and  felt  better  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  Lucky  for  you  I  am ;  for  if  I  put  on  crushed  airs, 
and  tried  to  be  dismal,  as  you  do,  we  should  be  in  a 
nice  state.  Thank  goodness,  I  can  always  find  some- 
thing funny  to  keep  me  up.  Don't  croak  any  more, 
but  come  home  jolly,  there's  a  dear." 

Jo  gave  her  sister  an  encouraging  pat  on  the  shoul- 
der as  they  parted  for  the  day,  each  going  a  different 
way,  each  hiicf2"in2  her  little  Warm  turn-over,  and  each 


5?  Little  Women, 

trying  to  be  cheerful  in  spite  of  wintry  weather,  hard 
w^ork,  and  the  unsatisfied  desires  of  pleasure-loving 
youth. 

When  Mr.  March  lost  his  property  in  trying  to  help 
an  unfortunate  friend,  the  two  oldest  girls  begged  to 
be  allowed  to  do  something  toward  their  own  support, 
at  least.  Believing  that  they  could  not  begin  too  early 
to  cultivate  energy,  industry,  and  independence,  their 
parents  consented,  and  both  fell  to  work  with  the 
hearty  good-will  which,  in  spite  of  all  obstacles,  is 
sure  to  succeed  at  last.  Margaret  found  a  place  as 
nursery  governness,  and  felt  rich  with  her  small  salary. 
As  she  said,  she  was  "  fond  of  luxury,"  and  her  chief 
trouble  was  poverty.  She  found  it  harder  to  bear 
than  the  others,  because  she  could  remember  a  time 
when  home  was  beautiful,  life  full  of  ease  and  pleasure, 
and  want  of  any  kind  unknown.  She  tried  not  to  be 
envious  or  discontented,  but  it  was  very  natural  that 
the  young  girl  should  long  for  pretty  things,  gay 
friends,  accomplishments,  and  a  happy  life.  At  the 
Kings  she  daily  saw  all  she  wanted,  for  the  children's 
glder  sisters  were  just  out,  and  Meg  caught  frequent 
glimpses  of  dainty  ball-dresses  and  bouquets,  heard 
lively  gossip  about  theatres,  concerts,  sleighing  parties 
and  merry-makings  of  all  kinds,  and  saw^  money  lav- 
ished on  trifles  which  would  have  been  so  precious  to 
her.  Poor  Meg  seldom  complained,  but  a  sense  of 
injustice  made  her  feel  bitter  toward  every  one  some- 
times, for  she  had  not  yet  learned  to  know  how  rich 
she  was  in  the  blessings  which  alone  can  make  life 
happy. 

Jo  happened  to  suit  Aunt  March,  who  was  lame, 


Burdens,  59 

and  needed  an  active  person  to  wait  upon  her.  The 
childless  old  lady  had  offered  to  adopt  one  of  the  girls 
when  the  troubles  came,  and  was  much  offended 
because  her  offer  was  declined.  Other  friends  told 
the  Marches  that  they  had  lost  all  chance  of  being 
remembered  in  the  rich  old  lady's  will ;  but  the  un- 
worldly Marches  only  said,  — 

"  We  can't  give  up  our  girls  for  a  dozen  fortunes. 
Rich  or  poor,  we  will  keep  together  and  be  happy  in 
one  another." 

The  old  lady  wouldn't  speak  to  them  for  a  time,  but, 
happening  to  meet  Jo  at  a  friend's,  something  in  her 
comical  face  and  blunt  manners  struck  the  old  lady's 
fancy,  and  she  proposed  to  take  her  for  a  companion. 
This  did  not  suit  Jo  at  all ;  but  she  accepted  the  place, 
since  nothing  better  appeared,  and,  to  every  one's  sur- 
prise, got  on  remarkably  well  with  her  irascible  rel- 
ative. There  was  an  occasional  tempest,  and  once  Jo 
had  marched  home,  declaring  she  couldn't  bear  it  any 
longer ;  but  Aunt  March  always  cleared  up  quickly, 
and  sent  for  her  back  again  with  such  urgency  that 
she  could  not  refuse,  for  in  her  heart  she  rather  liked 
the  peppery  old  lady. 

I  suspect  that  the  real  attraction  was  a  large  library 
of  fine  books,  which  was  left  to  dust  and  spiders  since 
Uncle  March  died.  Jo  remembered  the  kind  old 
gentleman  who  used  to  let  her  build  railroads  and 
bridges  with  his  big  dictionaries,  tell  her  stories  about 
the  queer  pictures  in  his  Latin  books,  and  buy  her 
cards  of  gingerbread  whenever  he  met  her  in  the 
street.  The  dim,  dusty  room,  with  the  busts  staring 
down    from    the    tall   book-cases,  the   cosv  chairs,  the 


6o  Little  Women, 

globes,  and,  best  of  all,  the  wilderness  of  books,  in 
which  she  could  wander  where  she  liked,  made  the 
library  a  region  of  bliss  to  her.  The  moment  Aunt 
March  took  her  nap,  or  was  busy  with  company,  Jo 
hurried  to  this  quiet  place,  and,  curling  herself  up  in 
the  big  chair,  devoured  poetry,  romance,  history, 
travels,  and  pictures,  like  a  regular  bookworm.  But, 
like  all  happiness,  it  did  not  last  long ;  for  as  sure  as 
she  had  just  reached  the  heart  of  the  story,  the  sweet- 
est verse  of  the  song,  or  the  most  perilous  adventure 
of  her  traveller,  a  shrill  voice  called,  "  Josy-phine  ! 
Josy-phine !  "  and  she  had  to  leave  her  paradise  to 
wind  yarn,  wash  the  poodle,  or  read  Belsham's  Essays, 
by  the  hour  together. 

Jo's  ambition  was  to  do  something  very  splendid ; 
what  it  was  she  had  no  idea,  but  left  it  for  time  to 
tell  her ;  and,  meanwhile,  found  her  greatest  afflic- 
tion in  the  fact  that  she  couldn't  read,  run,  and 
ride  as  much  as  she  liked.  A  quick  temper,  sharp 
tongue,  and  restless  spirit  were  always  getting  her 
into  scrapes,  and  her  life  was  a  series  of  ups  and 
downs,  which  were  both  comic  and  pathetic.  But 
the  training  she  received  at  Aunt  March's  was  just 
what  she  needed ;  and  the  thought  that  she  was  doing 
something  to  support  herself  made  her  happy,  in  spite 
of  the  perpetual  "Josy-phine  !  " 

Beth  was  too  bashful  to  go  to  school ;  it  had  been 
tried,  but  she  suffered  so  much  that  it  was  given  up, 
and  she  did  her  lessons  at  home,  .with  her  father. 
Even  when  he  went  away,  and  her  mother  was  called 
to  devote  her  skill  and  energy  to  Soldiers'  Aid  Soci- 
eties, Beth  went  faithfully   on  bv  herself,  and   did  the 


Burdens,  6i 

best  she  could.  She  ^vas  a  housewifely  little  creature, 
and  helped  Hannah  keep  home  neat  and  comfortable 
for  the  workers,  never  thinking  of  any  reward  but 
to  be  loved.  Long,  quiet  days  she  spent,  not  lonely  nor 
idle,  for  her  little  world  was  peopled  with  imaginary 
friends,  and  she  was  by  nature  a  busy  bee.  There 
were  six  dolls  to  be  taken  up  and  dressed  every  morn- 
ing, for  Beth  was  a  child  still,  and  loved  her  pets  as 
well  as  ever  ;  not  one  whole  or  handsome  one  among 
them ;  all  were  outcasts  till  Beth  took  them  in ;  for, 
when  her  sisters  outgrew  these  idols,  they  passed  to 
her,  because  Amy  would  have  nothing  old  or  ugly. 
Beth  cherished  them  all  the  more  tenderly  for  that 
very  reason,  and  set  up  a  hospital  for  infirm  dolls. 
No  pins  were  ever  stuck  into  their  cotton  vitals ;  no 
harsh  words  or  blows  were  ever  given  them  ;  no  neg- 
lect ever  saddened  the  heart  of  the  most  repulsive,  but 
all  were  fed  and  clothed,  nursed  and  caressed,  with  an 
affection  which  never  failed.  One  forlorn  fragment 
of  dollanity  had  belonged  to  Jo  ;  and,  having  led  a 
tempestuous  life,  was  left  a  wreck  in  the  rag-bag,  from 
which  dreary  poor-house  it  was  rescued  by  Beth,  and 
taken  to  her  refuge.  Having  no  top  to  its  head,  she 
tied  on  a  neat  little  cap,  and,  as  both  arms  and  legs 
were  gone,  she  hid  these  deficiencies  by  folding  it  in 
a  blanket,  and  devoting  her  best  bed  to  this  chronic 
invalid.  If  any  one  had  known  the  care  lavished  on 
that  dolly,  I  think  it  would  have  touched  their  hearts, 
even  while  they  laughed.  She  brought  it  bits  of 
bouquets ;  she  read  to  it,  took  it  out  to  breathe  the  air, 
hidden  under  her  coat ;  she  sung  it  luUabys,  and  never 
"went  to  bed  without  kissing  its  dirty  face,  and  whis- 


62  Little  V/omen, 

pering  tenderly,  "  I  hope  you'll  have  a  good  night, 
my  poor  dear." 

Beth  had  her  troubles  as  well  as  the  others ;  and 
not  being  an  angel,  but  a  very  human  little  girl,  she 
often  "  vsrept  a  little  weep,"  as  Jo  said,  because  she 
couldn't  take  music  lessons  and  have  a  fine  piano. 
She  loved  music  so  dearly,  tried  so  hard  to  learn,  and 
practised  away  so  patiently  at  the  jingling  old  instru- 
ment, that  it  did  seem  as  if  some  one  (not  to  hint 
Aunt  March)  ought  to  help  her.  Nobody  did,  how- 
ever, and  nobody  saw  Beth  wipe  the  tears  off  the 
yellow  keys,  that  wouldn't  keep  in  tune  when  she 
was  all  alone.  She  sung  like  a  little  lark  about  her 
work,  never  was  too  tired  to  play  for  Marmee  and 
the  girls,  and  day  after  day  said  hopefully  to  herself, 
"  I  know  I'll  get  my  music  some  time,  if  I'm  good." 

There  are  many  Beths  in  the  world,  shy  and  quiet, 
sitting  in  corners  till  needed,  and  living  for  others 
so  cheerfully,  that  no  one  sees  the  sacrifices  till  the 
little  cricket  on  the  hearth  stops  chirping,  and  the 
sweet,  sunshiny  presence  vanishes,  leaving  silence  and 
shadow  behind. 

If  anybody  had  asked  Amy  what  the  greatest  trial 
of  her  life  was,  she  would  have  answered  at  once, 
"My  nose."  When  she  was  a  baby,  Jo  had  acciden- 
tally dropped  her  into  the  coal-hod,  and  Amy  insisted 
that  the  fall  had  ruined  her  nose  forever.  It  was  not 
big,  nor  red,  like  poor  "  Petrea's  ;  "  it  was  only  rather 
flat,  and  all  the  pinching  in  the  world  could  not  giye 
it  an  aristocratic  point.  No  one  minded  it  but  herself, 
and  it  was  doing  its  best  to  grow,  but  Amy  felt  deeply 


Burdens,  6^^ 

the  want  of  a  Grecian  nose,  and  drew  whole  sheets 
of  handsome  ones  to  console  herself. 

"  Little  Raphael,"  as  her  sisters  called  her,  had  a 
decided  talent  for  drawing,  and  was  never  so  happy 
as  when  copying  flowers,  designing  fairies,  or  illus- 
trating stories  with  queer  specimens  of  art.  Her 
teachers  complained  that  instead  of  doing  her  sums, 
she  covered  her  slate  with  animals ;  the  blank  pages 
of  her  atlas  were  used  to  copy  maps  on,  and  carica- 
tures of  the  most  ludicrous  description  came  fluttering 
out  of  all  her  books  at  unlucky  moments.  She  got 
through  her  lessons  as  well  as  she  could,  and  managed 
to  escape  reprimands  by  being  a  model  of  deport- 
ment. She  was  a  great  favorite  with  her  mates, 
being  good-tempered,  and  possessing  the  happy  art  of 
pleasing  without  efibrt.  Her  little  airs  and  graces 
were  much  admired,  so  were  her  accomplishments ; 
for  beside  her  drawing,  she  could  play  twelve  tunes, 
crochet,  and  read  French  without  mispronouncing 
more  than  two-thirds  of  the  words.  She  had  a  plain- 
tive way  of  saying,  "  When  papa  was  rich  we  did  so- 
and-so,"  which  was  very  touching ;  and  her  long 
words  were  considered  "perfectly  elegant"  by  the 
girls. 

Amy  was  in  a  fair  way  to  be  spoilt ;  for  every  one 
petted  her,  and  her  small  vanities  and  selfishnesses 
were  growing  nicely.  One  thing,  however,  rather 
quenched  the  vanities  ;  she  had  to  wear  her  cousin's 
Clothes.  Now  Florence'  s  mamma  hadn't  a  particle 
of  taste,  and  Amy  suffered  deeply  at  having  to  wear 
a  red  instead  of  a  blue  bonnet,  unbecoming  gowns, 
and   fussy  aprons  that  did  not  fit.      Everything  was 


64  Little   Wo?nen, 

good,  well  made,  and  little  worn ;  but  Amy's  artistic 
eyes  were  much  afflicted,  especially  this  winter,  when 
her  school  dress  was  a  dull  purple,  with  yellow  dots, 
and  no  trimming. 

"My  only  comfort,"  she  said  to  Meg,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes,  "  is,  that  mother  don't  take  tucks  in 
my  dresses  whenever  I'm  naughty,  as  Maria  Parks' 
mother  does.  My  dear,  it's  really  dreadful ;  for  some- 
times she  is  so  bad,  her  frock  is  up  to  her  knees,  and 
she  can't  come  to  school.  When  I  think  of  this  deg- 
gerredation^  I  feel  that  I  can  bear  even  my  flat  nose 
and  purple  gown,  with  yellow  sky-rockets  on  it." 

Meg  was  Amy's  confidant  and  monitor,  and,  by 
some  strange  attraction  of  opposites,  Jo  was  gentle 
Beth's.  To  Jo  alone  did  the  shy  child  tell  her  thoughts  ; 
and  over  her  big,  harum-scarum  sister,  Beth  uncon- 
sciously exercised  more  influence  than  any  one  in  the 
family.  The  two  older  girls  were  a  great  deal  to  each 
other,  but  both  took  one  of  the  younger  into  their 
keeping,  and  watched  over  them  in  their  own  way ; 
"  playing  mother  "  they  called  it,  and  put  their  sisters 
in  the  places  of  discarded  dolls,  with  the  maternal  in- 
..  stinct  of  little  women. 

'  \"  Has  anybody  got  anything  to  tell?  It's  been  such 
a  dismal  day  I'm  really  dying  for  some  amusement," 
said  Meg,  as  they  sat  sewing  together  that  evening. 

"  I  had  a  queer  time  with  aunt  to-day,  and,  as  I  got 
the  best  of  it,  I'll  tell  you  about  it,"  began  Jo,  who 
dearly  loved  to  tell  stories.  "  I  was  reading  that  ever- 
lasting Belsham,  and  droning  away  as  I  always  do, 
for  aunt  soon  drops  ofl',  and  then  I  take  out  some  nice 
book,  and  read  like  fury,  till  she  wakes  up.    I  actually 


Burdens,  65 

made  myself  sleepy ;  and,  before  she  began  to  nod,  I 
gave  such  a  gape  that  she  asked  me  what  I  meant  by 
opening  my  mouth  wide  enough  to  take  the  whole 
book  in  at  once. 

"  'I  wish  I  could,  and  be  done  with  it,'"  said  I,  try- 
ing not  to  be  saucy. 

"  Then  she  gave  me  a  long  lecture  on  my  sins,  and 
told  me  to  sit  and  think  them  over  while  she  just'  lost' 
herself  for  a  moment.  She  never  finds  herself  very 
soon  ;  so  the  minute  her  cap  began  to  bob,  like  a  top- 
heavy  dahlia,  I  whipped  the  '  Vicar  of  Wakefield ' 
out  of  my  pocket,  and  read  away,  with  one  eye  on  him, 
and  one  on  aunt.  I'd  just  got  to  where  they  all  tum- 
bled into  the  water,  when  I  forgot,  and  laughed  out 
loud.  Aunt  woke  up  ;  and,  being  more  good-natured 
after  her  nap,  told  me  to  read  a  bit,  and  show  what 
frivolous  work  I  preferred  to  the  worthy  and  instruc- 
tive Belsham.  I  did  my  very  best,  and  she  liked  it, 
though  she  only  said,  ~ 

"  '  I  don't  understand  what  it's  all  about ;  go  back 
and  begin  it,  child.' 

"  Back  I  went,  and  made  the  Primroses  as  interest- 
ing as  ever  I  could.  Once  I  was  wicked  enough  to 
stop  in  a  thrilling  place,  and  say  meekly,  '  I'm  afraid 
it  tires  you,  ma'am  ;  shan't  I  stop  now  }  ' 

"  She  caught  up  her  knitting  which  had  dropped  out 
of  her  hands,  gave  me  a  sharp  look  through  her  specs, 
and  said,  in  her  short  way, — 

"  '  Finish  the  chapter,  and  don't  be  impertinent, 
miss.^' 

"  Did  she  own  she  liked  it }  "  asked  Meg. 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  no  !  but  she  let  old  Belsham  rest ; 


66  Little  Women, 

and,  when  I  ran  back  after  my  gloves  this  afternoon, 
there  she  was,  so  hard  at  the  Vicar,  that  she  didn't 
hear  me  laugh  as  I  danced  a  jig  in  the  hall,  because  of 
the  good  time  coming.  What  a  pleasant  life  she  might 
have,  if  she  only  chose.  I  don't  envy  her  much,  in 
spite  of  her  money,  for  after  all  rich  people  have  about 
as  many  worries  as  poor  ones,  I  guess,"  added  Jo. 

"That  reminds  me,"  said  Meg,  "that  I've  got  some- 
thing to  tell.  It  isn't  funny,  like  Jo's  story,  but  I 
thought  about  it  a  good  deal  as  I  came  home.  At  the 
Kings  to-day  I  found  everybody  in  a  flurry,  and  one 
of  the  children  said  that  her  oldest  brother  had  done 
something  dreadful,  and  papa  had  sent  him 'away.  I 
heard  Mrs.  King  crying,  and  Mr.  King  talking  very  loud, 
and  Grace  and  Ellen  turned  away  their  faces  when  they 
passed  me,  so  I  shouldn't  see  how  red  their  eyes  were. 
I  didn't  ask  any  questions,  of  course ;  but  I  felt  so 
sorry  for  them,  and  was  rather  glad  I  hadn't  any  wild 
brothers  to  do  wicked  things,  and  disgrace  the  family." 

"  I  think  being  disgraced  in  school  is  a  great  deal 
txytnger  than  anything  bad  boys  can  do,"  said  Amy, 
shaking  her  head,  as  if  her  experience  of  life  had  been 
a  deep  one.  "  Susie  Perkins  came  to  school  to-day 
with  a  lovely  red  carnelian  ring ;  I  wanted  it  dread- 
fully, and  wished  I  was  her  with  all  my  might. 
Well,  she  drew  a  picture  of  Mr.  Davis,  with  a  mon- 
strous nose  and  a  hump,  and  the  words,  'Young 
ladies,  my  eye  is  upon  you ! '  coming  out  of  his 
mouth  in  a  balloon  thing.  We  were  laughing  over  it, 
when  all  of  a  sudden  his  eye  was  on  us,  artd  he 
ordered  Susie  to  bring  up  her  slate.  She  was  parry- 
lized  with  fright,  but  she  went,  and  oh,  what  do  yoii 


Burdens,  67 

think  he  did?  He  took  her  by  the  ear,  the  ear!  just 
fancy  how  horrid  !  and  led  her  to  the  recitation  plat- 
form, and  made  her  stand  there  half  an  horn*,  holding 
that  slate  so  every  one  could  see." 

"  Didn't  the  girls  shout  at  the  picture  ?  "  asked  Jo, 
who  relished  the  scrape. 

"  Laugh !  not  a  one ;  they  sat  as  still  as  mice,  and 
Susie  cried  quarts,  I  know  she  did.  I  didn't  envy 
her  then,  for  I  felt  that  millions  of  carnelian  rings 
would'nt  have  made  me  happy  after  that.  I  never, 
never  should  have  got  over  such  a  agonizing  mor- 
tification ; "  and  Amy  went  on  with  her  work,  in  the 
proud  consciousness  of  virtue,  and  the  successful 
utterance  of  two  long  words  in  a  breath. 

^  I  saw  something  that  I  liked  this  morning,  and- 
I  meant  to  tell  it  at  dinner,  but  I  forgot,"  said 
Beth,  putting  Jo's  topsy-turvy  basket  in  order  as  she 
talked.  "When  I  went  to  get  some  oysters  for  Han- 
nah, Mr.  Laurence  was  in  the  fish  shop,  but  he  didn't 
see  me,  for  I  kept  behind  a  barrel,  and  he  was  busy  with 
Mr.  Cutter,  the  fish-man.  A  poor  woman  came  in  with 
a  pail  and  a  mop,  and  asked  Mr.  Cutter  if  he  would  let 
her  do  some  scrubbing  for  a  bit  of  fish,  because  she 
hadn't  any  dinner  for  her  children,  and  had  been  disap- 
pointed of  a  day's  work.  Mr.  Cutter  was  in  a  hurry, 
and  said  '  No,'  rather  crossly  ;  so  she  was  going  away, 
looking  hungry  and  sorry,  when  Mr.  Laurence  hooked 
up  a  big  fish  with  the  crooked  end  of  his  cane,  and 
held  it  out  to  her.  She  was  so  glad  and  surprised  she 
took  it  right  in  her  arms,  and  thanked  him  over  and 
over.  He  told  her  to  '  go  along  and  cook  it,'  and  she 
hwiried  off",  so   happy!    wasn't  it  nice  of  him.?     Oh, 


68  Little  Women, 

she  did  look  so  funny,  hugging  the  big,  slippery  fish, 
and  hoping  Mr.  Laurence's  bed  in  heaven  would  be 
'  aisy.'  " 

When  they  had  laughed  at  Beth's  story,  they  asked 
their  mother  for  one  ;  and,  after  a  moment's  thought, 
she  said  soberl}^,  — 

"As  I  sat  cutting  out  blue  flannel  jackets  to-day, 
at  the  rooms,  I  felt  very  anxious  about  father,  and 
thought  how  lonely  and  helpless  we  should  be  if  any- 
thing happened  to  him.  It  was  not  a  wise  thing  to 
do,  but  I  kept  on  worr3dng,  till  an  old  man  came  in 
with  an  order  for  some  things.  He  sat  down  near 
me,  and  I  began  to  talk  to  him,  for  he  looked  poor, 
and  tired,  and  anxious. 

"'Have  you  sons  in  the  army?'  I  asked,  for  the 
note  he  brought  was  not  to  me. 

"  '  Yes,  ma'am  ;  I  had  four,  but  two  were  killed  ; 
one  is  a  prisoner,  and  I'm  going  to  the  other,  who  is 
very  sick  in  a  Washington  hospital,'  he  answered, 
quietly. 

"'You  have  done  a  great  deal  for  your  country, 
sir,'  I  said,  feeling  respect  now,  instead  of  pity. 

"  '  Not  a  mite  more  than  I  ought,  ma'am.  I'd  go 
myself,  if  I  was  any  use  ;  as  I  ain't,  I  give  my  boys, 
and  give  ^em  free.' 

"  He  spoke  so  cheerfully,  looked  so  sincere,  and 
seemed  so  glad  to  give  his  all,  that  I  was  ashamed  of 
myself.  I'd  given  one  man,  and  thought  it  too  much., 
while  he  gave  four,  without  grudging  them ;  I  had 
all  my  girls  to  comfort  me  at  home,  and  his  last  son 
was  waiting,  miles  awav,  to  say  '  good-by '  to  him,  per- 
haps.    I  felt  so  rich,  so  happy,  thinking  of  my  bless- 


Burdens,  69 

ings,  that  I  made  him  a  nice  bundle,  gave  him  some 
money,  and  thanked  him  heartily  for  the  lesson  he 
had  taught  me.'* 

"  Tell  another  story,  mother ;  one  with  a  moral  to 
it,  like  this.  I  like  to  think  about  them  afterwards,  if 
they  are  real,  and  not  too  preachy,"  said  Jo,  after  a 
minute's  silence. 

Mrs.  March  smiled,  and  began  at  once  ;  for  she  had 
told  stories  to  this  little  audience  for  many  years,  and 
knew  how  to  please  them. 

"  Once  upon  a  time  there  were  four  girls,  who  had 
enough  to  eat,  and  drink,  and  wear ;  a  good  many 
comforts  and  pleasures,  kind  friends  and  parents,  who 
loved  them  dearly,  and  yet  they  were  not  contented." 
(Here  the  listeners  stole  sly  looks  at  one  another,  and 
began  to  sew  diligently.)  "  These  girls  were  anxious 
to  be  good,  and  made  many  excellent  resolutions,  but 
somehow  they  did  not  keep  them  very  well,  and  were 
constantly  saying,  '  If  we  only  had  this,'  or  '  if  we 
could  only  do  that,'  quite  forgetting  how  much  they 
already  had,  and  how  many  pleasant  things  they  ac- 
tually could  do ;  so  they  asked  an  old  woman  what 
spell  they  could  use  to  make  them  happy,  and  she 
said,  'When  you  feel  discontented,  think  over  youi 
blessings,  and  be  grateful.' "  (Here  Jo  looked  up 
quickly,  as  if  about  to  speak,  but  changed  her  mind, 
seeing  that  the  story  was  not  done  yet.) 

"  Being  sensible  girls,  they  decided  to  try  her  ad- 
vice, and  soon  were  surprised  to  see  how  well  oft' 
they  were.  One  discovered  that  money  couldn't  keep 
shame  and  sorrow  out  of  rich  people's  houses  ;  anothei 
that  though  she  was  poor,  she  was  a  great  deal  hap- 


JO  Little  Women, 

pier  with  her  youth,  health,  and  good  spirits,  than  a 
certain  fretful,  feeble  old  lady,  who  couldn't  enjoy  her 
comforts ;  a  third,  that,  disagreeable  as  it  was  to  help 
get  dinner,  it  was  harder  still  to  have  to  go  begging 
for  it ;  and  the  fourth,  that  even  carnelian  rings  were 
not  so  valuable  as  good  behavior.  So  they  agreed  to 
stop  complaining,  to  enjoy  the  blessings  already  pos- 
sessed, and  try  to  deserve  them,  lest  they  should  be 
taken  away  entirely,  instead  of  increased ;  and  I  be- 
lieve they  were  never  disappointed,  or  sorry  that  they 
took  the  old  woman's  advice." 

"  Now,  Marmee,  that  is  very  cunning  of  you  to 
turn  our  own  stories  against  us,  and  give  us  a  sermon 
instead  of  a  '  spin,'  "  cried  Meg. 

"  I  like  that  kind  of  sermon  ;  it's  the  sort  father  used 
to  tell  us,"  said  Beth,  thoughtfully,  putting  the  needles 
straight  on  Jo's  cushion. 

"I  don't  complain  near  as  much  as  the  others  do, 
and  I  shall  be  more  careful  than  ever  now,  for  I've 
had  warning  from  Susie's  downfall,"  said  Amy,  mor- 
ally. 

"  We  needed  that  lesson,  and  we  won't  forget  it. 
If  we  do,  you  just  say  to  us  as  Old  Chloe  did  in  Uncle 
Tom,  — '  Tink  ob  yer  marcies,  chillen,  tink  ob  yer 
marcies,' "  added  Jo,  who  could  not  for  the  life  of  her 
help  getting  a  morsel  of  fun  out  of  the  little  sermon, 
though  she  took  it  to  heart  as  much  as  any  of  them. 


CHAPTER  V. 


BEING    NEIGHBORLY. 


WHAT  in  the  world  are  you  going  to  do  now, 
Jo  ? "  asked  Meg,  one  snowy  afternoon,  as 
her  sister  came  clumping  through  the  hall, 
in  rubber  boots,  old  sack  and  hood,  with  a  broom  in 
one  hand  and  a  shovel  in  the  other. 

"  Going  out  for  exercise,"  answered  Jo,  with  a  mis- 
chievous twinkle  in  her  eyes. 

"I  should  think  two  long  walks,  this  morning, 
would  have  been  enough.  It's  cold  and  dull  out,  and 
I  advise  you  to  stay,  warm  and  dry,  by  the  fire,  as  I 
do,"  said  Meg,  with  a  shiver. 

"  Never  take  advice  ;  can't  keep  still  all  day,  and 
not  being  a  pussy-cat,  I  don't  like  to  doze  by  the  fire. 
I  like  adventures,  and  I'm  going  to  find  some." 

Meg  went  back  to  toast  her  feet,  and  read  "  Ivan- 
hoe,"  and  Jo  began  to  dig  paths  with  great  energy. 
The  snow  was  light ;  and  with  her  broom  she  soon 
swept  a  path  all  round  the  garden,  for  Beth  to  walk 
in  when  the  sun  came  out;  and  the  invalid  dolls 
needed  air.  Now  the  garden  separated  the  Marches 
house    from  that   hf  Mr.  Laurence  ;   both  stood    in   a 

7' 


72  Little   Wo7nen, 

suburb  of  the  city,  which  was  still  country-like,  with 
groves  and  lawns,  large  gardens,  and  quiet  streets.  A 
low  hedge  parted  the  two  estates.  On  one  side  was 
an  old  brown  house,  looking  rather  bare  and  shabby, 
robbed  of  the  vines  that  in  summer  covered  its  walls, 
and  the  flowers  which  then  surrounded  it.  On  the 
other  side  was  a  stately  stone  mansion,  plainly  be- 
tokening every  sort  of  comfort  and  luxury,  from  the 
big  coach-house  and  well-kept  grounds  to  the  con- 
servatory, and  the  glimpses  of  lovely  things  one  caught 
between  the  rich  curtains.  Yet  it  seemed  a  lonely, 
lifeless  sort  of  house  ;  for  no  children  frolicked  on  the 
lawn,  no  motherly  face  ever  smiled  at  the  windows, 
and  few  people  went  in  and  out,  except  the  old  gen- 
tleman and  his  grandson. 

To  Jo's  lively  fancy  this  fine  house  seemed  a  kind 
of  enchanted  palace,  full  of  splendors  and  delights, 
which  no  one  enjoyed.  She  had  long  wanted  to 
behold  these  hidden  glories,  and  to  know  the  "  Lau- 
rence boy,"  who  looked  as  if  he  would  like  to  be 
known,  if  he  only  knew  how  to  begin.  Since  the 
party  she  had  been  more  eager  than  ever,  and  had 
planned  many  ways  of  making  friends  with  him ; 
but  he  had  not  been  lately  seen,  and  Jo  began  to 
think  he  had  gone  away,  when  she  one  day  spied  a 
brown  face  at  an  upper  window,  looking  wistfully 
down  into  their  garden,  where  Beth  and  Amy  were 
snow-balling  one  another. 

"  That  boy  is  suffering  for  society  and  fun,"  she 
said  to  herself.  ''  His  grandpa  don't  know  what's 
good  for  him,  and  keeps  him  shut  up  all  alone.  He 
needs  a  lot  of  jolly  boys  to  play  with,  or  somebody 


Being  Neighborly,  73 

young  and  lively.  I've  a  great  mind  to  go  over  and 
tell  the  old  gentleman  so." 

The  idea  amused  Jo,  w^ho  liked  to  do  daring  things, 
and  w^as  alw^ays  scandalizing  Meg  by  her  queer  per- 
formances. The  plan  of  "going  over"  was  not  for- 
gotten ;  and,  when  the  snowy  afternoon  came,  Jo 
resolved  to  try  what  could  be  done.  She  saw  Mr. 
Laurence  drive  off,  and  then  sallied  out  to  dig  her 
way  down  to  the  hedge,  where  she  paused,  and  took 
a  survey.  All  quiet ;  curtains  down  at  the  lower 
windows ;  servants  out  of  sight,  and  nothing  human 
visible  but  a  curly  black  head  leaning  on  a  thin  hand, 
at  the  upper  window. 

"  There  he  is,"  thought  Jo  ;  "poor  boy!  all  alone, 
and  sick,  this  dismal  day !  It's  a  shame !  I'll  toss 
up  a  snow-ball,  and  make  him  look  out,  and  then  say 
a  kind  word  to  him." 

Up  went  a  handful  of  soft  snow,  and  the  head 
turned  at  once,  showing  a  face  which  lost  its  listless 
look  in  a  minute,  as  the  big  eyes  brightened,  and  the 
mouth  began  to  smile.  Jo  nodded,  and  laughed,  and 
flourished  her  broom  as  she  called  out,  — 

"  How  do  you  do ?     Are  you  sick? " 

Laurie  opened  the  window  and  croaked  out  as 
hoarsely  as  a  raven, — 

"  Better,  thank  you.  I've  had  a  horrid  coid,  and 
been  shut  up  a  week." 

"I'm  sorry.     What  do  you  amuse  yourself  with  ? 

"  Nothing  ;  it's  as  dull  as  tombs  up  here." 

"Don't  you  read?" 

"  Not  much  ;  they  won't  let  me." 

**  Can't  somebodv  read  to  voii  ?  " 


74  Little  Women, 

"  Grandpa  does,  sometimes ;  but  my  books  don't 
interest  him,  and  I  hate  to  ask  Brooke  all  the  time." 

"  Have  some  one  come  and  see  you,  then." 

"  There  isn't  any  one  I'd  like  to  see.  Boys  make 
such  a  row,  and  my  head  is  weak." 

"Isn't  there  some  nice  girl  who'd  read  and  amuse 
you?     Girls  are  quiet,  and  like  to  play  nurse.'* 

"  Don't  know  any." 

"You  know  me,"  began  Jo,  then  laughed,  and 
stopped. 

"  So  I  do  !     Will  you  come,  please?"  cried  Laurie. 

"  I'm  not  quiet  and  nice  ;  but  I'll  come,  if  mother 
will  let  me.  I'll  go  ask  her.  Shut  that  window,  like 
a  good  boy,  and  wait  till  I  come." 

With  that,  Jo  shouldered  her  broom  and  marched 
into  the  house,  wondering  what  they  would  all  say  to 
her.  Laurie  was  in  a  little  flutter  of  excitement  at 
the  idea  of  having  company,  and  flew  about  to  get 
ready ;  for,  as  Mrs.  March  said,  he  was  "  a  little  gen- 
tleman," and  did  honor  to  the  coming  guest  by  brush- 
ing his  curly  pate,  putting  on  a  fresh  collar,  and 
trying  to  tidy  up  the  room,  which,  in  spite  of  half  a 
dozen  servants,  was  anything 'but  neat.  Presently, 
there  came  a  loud  ring,  then  a  decided  voice,  asking 
for  "  Mr.  Laurie,"  and  a  surprised-looking  servant 
came  running  up  to  announce  a  young  lady. 

"All  right,  show  her  ujd,  ifs  Miss  Jo,"  said  Laurie, 
going  to  the  door  of  his  little  parlor  to  meet  Jo,  who 
appeared,  looking  rosy  and  kind,  and  quite  at  hei 
ease,  with  a  covered  dish  in  one  hand,  and  Beth's 
three  kittens  in  the  other. 

"  Here  I  am,  bag  and  baggage,"  she  said,  briskly. 


Being  Neighborly,  75 

"  Mother  sent  her  love,  and  was  glad  if  I  could  do 
anything  for  you.  Meg  wanted  me  to  bring  some  of 
her  blanc-mange  ;  she  makes  it  very  nice,  and  Beth 
tliought  her  cats  would  be  comforting.  I  knew  you'd 
shout  at  them,  but  I  couldn't  refuse,  she  was  so 
anxious  to  do  something." 

It  so  happened  that  Beth's  funny  loan  was  just  the 
thing  ;  for,  in  Jaughing  over  the  kits,  Laurie  forgot  his 
bashfulness,  and  grew  sociable  at  once. 

""  That  looks  too  pretty  to  eat,"  he  said,  smiling 
with  pleasure,  as  Jo  uncovered  the  dish,  and  showed 
the  blanc-mange,  surrounded  by  a  garland  of  green 
leaves,  and  the  scarlet  flowers  of  Amy's  pet  geranium. 
,  "It  isn't  anything,  only  they  all  felt  kindly,  and 
wanted  to  show  it.  *  Tell  the  girl  to  put  it  away  for 
your  tea  ;  it's  so  simple,  you  can  eat  it ;  and,  being  soft, 
it  will  slip  down  without  hurtnig  your  sore  throat. 
What  a  cosy  room  this  is." 

"  It  might  be,  if  it  was  kept  nice  ;  but  the  maids 
are  lazy,  and  I  don't  know  how  to  make  them  mind. 
It  worries  me,  though." 

"I'll  right  it  up  in  two  minutes  ;  for  it  only  needs  to 
have  the  hearth  brushed,  so,  —  and  the  things  stood 
straight  on  the  mantel-piece,  so,  —  and  the  books  put 
here,  and  the  bottles  there,  and  your  sofa  turned  from 
the  light,  and  the  pillows  plumped  up  a  bit.  Now, 
then,  you're  fixed." 

And  so  he  was  ;  for,  as  she  laughed  and  talked,  Jo 
had  whisked  things  into  place,  and  given  quite  a 
different  air  to  the  room.  Laurie  watched  her  in 
respectful  silence  ;  and,  when  she  beckoned  him  to  his 


76  Little  Women, 

sofa,  he  sat  down  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  saying, 
gratefully,  — 

"  How  kind  you  are  !  Yes,  that's  what  it  wanted. 
Now  please  take  the  big  chair,  and  let  me  do  some- 
thing to  amuse  my  company." 

"  No  ;  I  came  to  amuse  you.  Shall  I  read  aloud?" 
and  Jo  looked  affectionately  toward  some  inviting 
books  near  by. 

"  Thank  you ;  I've  read  all  those,  and  if  you  don't 
mind,  I'd  rather  talk,"  answered  Laurie. 

"Not  a  bit;  I'll  talk  all  day  if  you'll  only  set  me 
going.     Beth  says  I  never  know  when  to  stop." 

"  Is  Beth  the  rosy  one,  who  stays  at  home  a  good 
deal,  and  sometimes  goes  out  with  a  little  basket?" 
asked  Laurie,  with  interest. 

"Yes,  that's  Beth;  she's  my  girl,  and  a  regular 
good  one  she  is,  too." 

"  The  pretty  one  is  Meg,  and  the  curly-haired  one 
is  Amy,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  How  did  you  find  that  out?" 

Laurie  colored  up,  but  answered,  frankly,  "  Why, 
you  see,  I  often  hear  you  calling  to  one  another,  and 
when  I'm  alone  up  here,  I  can't  help  looking  over  at 
your  house,  you  always  seem  to  be  having  such  good 
times.  I  beg  your  pardon  for  being  so  rude,  but 
sometimes  you  forget  to  put  down  the  curtain  at  the 
window  where  the  flowers  are  ;  and,  when  the  lamps 
are  lighted,  it's  like  looking  at  a  picture  to  see  the  fire, 
and  you  all  round  the  table  with  your  mother ;  her 
face  is  right  opposite,  and  it  looks  so  sweet  behind  the 
flowers,  I. can't  help  watching  it.     I  haven't  got  any 


Being  Neighborly,  77 

mother,  you  know  ; "  and  Laurie  poked  the  fire  to  hide 
a  little  twitching  of  the  lips  that  he  could  not  control. 

The  solitary,  hungry  look  in  his  eyes  went  straight 
to  Jo's  warm  heart.  She  had  been  so  simply  taught 
that  there  was  no  nonsense  in  her  head,  and  at 
fifteen  she  was  as  innocent  and  frank  as  any  child. 
Laurie  was  sick  and  lonely ;  and,  feeling  how  rich 
she  was  in  home-love  and  happiness,  she  gladly  tried 
to  share  it  with  him.  Her  brown  face  was  very 
friendly,  and  her  sharp  voice  unusually  gentle,  as  she 
said,  — 

"We'll  never  draw  that  curtain  any  more,  and  1 
give  you  leave  to  look  as  much  as  you  like.  I  just 
wish,  though,  instead  of  peeping,  you'd  come  over 
and  see  us.  Mother  is  so  splendid,  she'd  do  you  heaps 
of  good,  and  Beth  would  sing  to  you  if  /begged  her 
to,  and  Amy  would  dance  ;  Meg  and-  I  would  make 
you  laugh  over  our  funny  stage  properties,  and  we'd 
have  jolly  times.    Wouldn't  your  grandpa  let  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  would,  if  your  mother  asked  him.  He's 
very  kind,  though  he  don't  look  it ;  and  he  lets  me  do 
what  I  like,  pretty  much,  only  he's  afraid  I  might  be 
a  bother  to  strangers,"  began  Laurie,  brightening 
more  and  more. 

"  We  ain't  strangers,  we  are  neighbors,  and  you 
needn't  think  you'd  be  a  bother.  We  want  to  know 
you,  and  I've  been  trying  to  do  it  this  ever  so  long. 
We  haven't  been  here  a  great  while,  you  know,  but  we 
have  got  acquainted  with  all  our  neighbors  but  you." 

"  You  see  grandpa  lives  among  his  books,  and  don't 
mind  much  what  happens  outside.  Mr.  Brooke,  my 
tutor,  don't  stay  here,  you  know,  and  I  have  no  one  to 


78  Little  Women, 

go  round  with  me,  so  I  just  stop  at  home  and  get  on 
as  I  can." 

"  That's  bad  ;  you  ought  to  make  a  dive,  and  go 
visiting  everywhere  you  are  asked ;  then  you'll  have 
lots  of  friends,  and  pleasant  places  to  go  to.  Never 
mind  being  bashful,  it  won't  last  long  if  you  keep 
going." 

Laurie  turned  red  again,  but  was'nt  offended  at 
being  accused  of  bashfulness ;  for  there  was  so  much 
good-will  in  Jo,  it  was  impossible  not  to  take  her  blunt 
speeches  as  kindly  as  they  were  meant. 

"  Do  you  like  your  school?"  asked  the  boy,  chang- 
ing the  subject,  after  a  little  pause,  during  which  he 
stared  at  the  fire,  and  Jo  looked  about  her  well  pleased. 

"  Don't  go  to  school ;  I'm  a  business  man  —  girl,  I 
mean.  I  go  to  wait  on  my  aunt,  and  a  dear,  cross 
old  soul  she  is,  too,"  answered  Jo. 

Laurie  opened  his  mouth  to  ask  another  question ; 
but  remembering  just  in  time  that  it  wasn't  manners  to 
make  too  many  inquiries  into  people's  affairs,  he  shut 
it  again,  and  looked  uncomfortable.  Jo  liked  his  good 
breeding,  and  didn't  mind  having  a  laugh  at  Aunt 
March,  so  she  gave  him  a  lively  description  of  the 
fidgety  old  lady,  her  fat  poodle,  the  parrot  that  talked 
Spanish,  and  the  library  where  she  revelled.  Laurie 
enjoyed  that  immensely ;  and  when  she  told  about  the 
prim  old  gentleman  who  came  once  to  woo  Aunt 
March,  and,  in  the  middle  of  a  fine  speech,  how  Poll 
had  tweaked  his  Wig  off  to  his  great  dismay,  the 
boy  lay  back  and  laughed  till  the  tears  ran  down  his 
cheeks,  and  a  maid  popped  her  head  in  to  see  what 
was  the  matter. 


Being  Neighborly.  79 

"  Oh  !  that  does  me  lots  of  good  ;  tell  on,  please," 
he  said,  taking  his  face  out  of  the  sofa-cushion,  red  and 
shining  with  merriment.    ^ 

Much  elated  with  her  success,  Jo  did  "  tell  on,"  all 
about  their  plays  and  plans,  their  hopes  and  fears  for 
father,  and  the  most  interesting  events  of  the  little 
world  in  which  the  sisters  lived.  Then  they  got  to 
talking  about  books  ;  and  to  Jo's  delight  she  found  that 
Laurie  loved  them  as  well  as  she  did,  and  had  read 
even  more  than  herself. 

"  If  you  like  them  so  much,  come  down  and  see 
ours.  Grandpa  is  out,  so  you  needn't  be  afraid,"  said 
Laurie,  getting  up. 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  anything,"  returned  Jo,  with  a 
toss  of  the  head. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  are  !  "  exclaimed  the  boy,  look- 
ing at  her  with  much  admiration,  though  he  privately 
thought  •  she  would  have  good  reason  to  be  a  trifle 
afraid  of  the  old  gentleman,  if  she  met  him  in  some 
of  his  moods. 

The  atmosphere  of  the  whole  house  being  summer- 
like, Laurie  led  the  way  from  room  to  room,  letting 
Jo  stop  to  examine  whatever  struck  her  fancy ;  and  so 
at  last  they  came  to  the  library,  where  she  clapped 
her  hands,  and  pranced,  as  she  always  did  when 
especially  delighted.  It  was  lined  with  books,  and 
there  were  pictures  and  statues,  and  distracting  little 
cabinets  full  of  coins  and  curiosities,  and  Sleepy- 
Hollow  chairs,  and  queer  tables,  and  bronzes  ;  and, 
best  of  all,  a  great,  open  fireplace,  with  quaint  tiles 
all  round  it. 

"  What   richness ! "    sighed    Jo,    sinking   into    the 


8o  Little   Women, 

depths  of  a  velvet  chair,  and  gazing  about  her  w^ith  an 
air  of  intense  satisfaction.  "  Theodore  Laurence,  you 
ought  to  be  the  happiest  boy  in  the  world,"  she  added, 
impressively. 

"  A  fellov^  can't  live  on  books,"  said  Laurie,  shaking 
his  head,  as  he  perched  on  a  table  opposite. 

Before  he  could  say  more,  a  bell  rung,  and  Jo  flew 
up,  exclaiming  with  alarm,  "Mercy  me  I  it's  your 
grandpa ! " 

"Well,  what  if  it  is?  You  are  not  afraid  of  any- 
thing, you  know,"  returned  the  boy,  looking  wicked. 

"  I  think  I  am  a  little  bit  afraid  of  him,  but  I  don't 
know  why  I  should  be.  Marmee  said  I  might  come, 
and  I  don't  think  you're  any  the  worse  for  it,"  said 
Jo,  composing  herself,  though  she  kept  her  eyes  on 
the  door. 

"  I'm  a  great  deal  better  for  it,  and  ever  so  much 
obliged.  I'm  only  afraid  you  are  very  tired  talking  to 
me  ;  it  was  so  pleasant,  I  couldn't  bear  to  stop,"  said 
Laurie,  gratefully. 

"The  doctor  to  see  you,  sir,"  and  the  maid  beck- 
oned as  she  spoke. 

"Would  you  mind  if  I  left  you  for  a  minute.'*  I 
suppose  I  must  see  him,"  said  Laurie. 

"  Don't  mind  me.  I'm  as  happy  as  a  cricket  here," 
answered  Jo. 

Laurie  went  away,  and  his  guest  amused  herself  in 
her  own  way.  She  was  standing  before  a  fine  por- 
trait of  the  old  gentleman,  when  the  door  opened 
again,  and,  without  turning,  she  said  decidedly,  "  Fm 
sure  now  that  I  shouldn't  be  afraid  of  him,  for  he's  got 
kind  eyes,  though  his  mouth  is  grim,  and  he  looks  as 


Being  Neighborly,  8 1 

if  he  had  a  tremendous  will  of  his  own.     He  isn't  as 
handsome  as  my  grandfather,  but  I  like  him." 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  a  gruff  voice  behind 
her ;  and  there,  to  her  great  dismay,  stood  old  Mr 
Laurence. 

Poor  Jo  blushed  till  she  couldn't  blush  any  redder, 
and  her  heart  began  to  beat  uncomfortably  fast  as  she 
thought  what  she  had  said.  For  a  minute  a  wild 
desire  to  run  away  possessed  her  ;  but  that  was  cow- 
ardly, and  the  girls  would  laugh  at  her ;  so  she 
resolved  to  stay,  and  get  out  of  the  scrape  as  she  could. 
A  second  look  showed  her  that  the  living  eyes,  under 
the  bushy  gray  eyebrows,  were  kinder  even  than  the 
painted  ones ;  and  there  was  a  sly  twinkle  in  them, 
which  lessened  her  fear  a  good  deal.  The  gruff  voice 
was  grufier  than  ever,  as  the  old  gentleman  said  ab- 
ruptly, after  that  dreadful  pause,  "  So,  you're  not  afraid 
of  me,  hey .'' " 

"  Not  much,  sir." 

"And  you  don't  think  me  as  handsome  as  your 
grandfather .? " 

"  Not  quite,  sir." 

"And  I've  got  a  tremendous  will,  have  I?" 

"  I  only  said  I  thought  so." 

"But  you  like  me,  in  spite  of  it.?" 

"  Yes,  I  do,  sir." 

That  answer  pleased  the  old  gentleman  ;  he  gave  a 
short  laugh,  shook  hands  with  her,  and  putting  his 
finger  under  her  chin,  turned  up  her  face,  examined 
it  gravely,  and  let  it  go,  saying,  with  a  nod,  "You've 
got  your  grandfather's  spirit,  if  you  haven't  his  face. 
He  tvas  a  fine  man,  my  dear  ;  but.  what  is  better,  he 
6 


82  Little   Women, 

was  a  brave  and  an  honest  one,  and  I  was  proud  to  be 
his  friend." 

"  Thank  you,  sir  ;  "  and  Jo  was  quite  comfortable 
after  that,  for  it  suited  her  exactly. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  this  boy  of  mine, 
hey?"  was  the  next  question,  sharply  put. 

"  Only  trying  to  be  neighborly,  sir  ;  "  and  Jo  told 
how  her  visit  came  about. 

"  You  think  he  needs  cheering  up  a  bit,  do  you.? " 

"Yes,  sir  ;  he  seems  a  little  lonely,  and  young  folks 
would  do  him  good,  perhaps.  We  are  only  girls,  but 
we  should  be  glad  to  help  if  we  could,  for  we  don*t 
forget  the  splendid  Christmas  present  you  sent  us," 
said  Jo,  eagerly. 

^  Tut,  tut,  tut ;  that  was  the  boy's  affair.  How  is 
the  poor  woman .?  " 

"  Doing  nicely,  sir  ;  "  and  off  went  Jo,  talking  very 
fast,  as  she  told  all  about  the  Hummels,  in  whom  her 
mother  had  interested  richer  friends  than  they  were. 

"Just  her  father's  way  of  doing  good.  I  shall 
come  and  see  your  mother  some  fine  day.  Tell  her 
so.  There's  the  tea-bell ;  we  have  it  early,  on  the 
boy's  account.  Come  down,  and  go  on  being  neigh- 
borly." 

"  If  you'd  like  to  have  me,  sir." 

"  Shouldn't  ask  you,  if  I  didn't ;  "  and  Mr.  Laurence 
ofiered  her  his  arm  with  old-fashioned  courtesy. 

"What  would  ^Q,^  say  to  this.?"  thought  Jo,  as  she 
was  marched  away,  while  her  eyes  danced  with  fun 
as  she  imagined  herself  telling  the  story  at  home. 

"  Hey  !  why  what  the  dickens  has  come  to  the  fel- 
low.?"  said  the  old  gentleman,  as  Laurie  came  run- 


Being  Neighborly.  83 

ning  down  stairs,  and  brought  up  with  a  start  of 
surprise  at  the  astonishing  sight  of  Jo  arm  in  arm 
with  his  redoubtable  grandfather. 

"  I  didn't  know  you'd  come,  sir,"  he  began,  as  Jo 
gave  him  a  triumphant  little  glance. 

"  That's  evident,  by  the  way  you  racket  down  stairs. 
Come  to  your  tea,  sir,  and  behave  like  a  gentleman  ; " 
and  having  pulled  the  boy's  hair  by  way  of  a  caress, 
Mr.  Laurence  walked  on,  while  Laurie  went  through  a 
series  of  comic  evolutions  behind  their  backs,  which 
nearly  produced  an  explosion  of  laughter  from  Jo. 

The  old  gentleman  did  not  say  much  as  he  drank 
his  four  cups  of  tea,  but  he  watched  the  young  people, 
who  soon  chatted  away  like  old  friends,  and  the 
change  in  his  grandson  did  not  escape  him.  There 
was  color,  light  and  life  in  the  boy's  face  now, 
vivacity  in  his  manner,  and  genuine  merriment  in  his 
laugh. 

"  She's  right ;  the  lad  is  lonely.  I'll  see  what  these 
little  girls  can  do  for  him,"  thought  Mr.  Laurence,  as 
he  looked  and  listened.  He  liked  Jo,  for  her  odd, 
blunt  ways  suited  him  ;  and  she  seemed  to  understand 
the  boy  almost  as  well  as  if  she  had  been  one  herself. 

If  the  Laurences  had  been  what  Jo  called  "prim 
and  poky,"  she  would  not  have  got  on  at  all,  for  such 
people  always  made  her  shy  and  awkward ;  but  find- 
ing them  free  and  easy,  she  was  so  herself,  and  made 
a  good  impression.  When  they  rose  she  proposed  to 
go,  but  Laurie  said  he  had  something  more  to  show 
her,  and  took  her  away  to  the  conservatory,  which 
had  been  lighted  for  her  benefit.  It  seemed  quite 
fairy-like  to  Jo,  as  she  went  up  and  down  the  walks, 


S4  L  it  tie   i  I  ^o  men, 

enjoying  the  blooming  walls  on  either  side,  —  the  soft 
light,  the  damp,  sweet  air,  and  the  wonderful  vines 
and  trees  that  hung  above  her,  —  while  her  new  friend 
cut  the  finest  flowers  till  his  hands  were  full ;  then 
he  tied  them  up,  saying,  with  the  happy  look  Jo  liked 
to  see,  "Please  give  these  to  your  mother,  and  tell 
her  I  like  the  medicine  she  sent  me  very  much." 

They  found  Mr.  Laurence  standing  before  the  fire 
in  the  great  drawing-room,  but  Jo's  attention  was  en- 
tirely absorbed  by  a  grand  piano  which  stood  open. 

"  Do  you  play?"  she  asked,  turning  to  Laurie  with 
a  respectful  expression. 

"  Sometimes,"  he  answered,  modestly. 

"Please  do  now;  I  want  to  hear  it,  so  I  can  tell 
Beth." 

"Won't  you  first?" 

"  Don't  know  how  ;  too  stupid  to  learn,  but  I  love 
music  dearly." 

So  Laurie  played,  and  Jo  listened,  with  her  nose 
luxuriously  buried  in  heliotrope  and  tea  roses.  Her 
respect  and  regard  for  the  "Laurence  boy"  increased 
very  much,  for  he  played  remarkably  well,  and  didn't 
put  on  any  airs.  She  wished  Beth  could  hear  him, 
but  she  did  not  say  so ;  only  praised  him  till  he  was 
quite  abashed,  and  his  grandfaflier  came  to  the  rescue. 
"  That  will  do,  that  will  do,  young  lady ;  too  many 
sugar-plums  are  not  good  for  him.  His  music  isn't 
bad,  but  I  hope  he  will  do  as  well  in  more  important 
things.  Going?  Well,  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  and 
I  hope  you'll  come  again.  My  respects  to  your 
mother;  good-night.  Doctor  Jo." 

He  shook  hands  kindly,  but  looked  as  if  something 


Being  Neighborly.  85 

did  not  please  him.  When  they  got  into  the  hall,  Jo 
asked  Laurie  if  she  had  said  anything  amiss ;  he 
shook  his  head. 

"  No,  it  was  me  ;  he  don't  like  to  hear  me  play." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  some  day.  John  is  going  home  with 
you,  as  I  can't." 

"No  need  of  that ;  I  ain't  a  young  lady,  and  it's  only 
a  step.     Take  care  of  yourself,  won't  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  you  will  come  again,  I  hope?" 

"  If  you  promise  to  come  and  see  us  after  you  are 
well." 

"  I  will." 

"  Good-night,  Laurie." 

"  Good-night,  Jo,  good-night." 

When  all  the  afternoon's  adventures  had  been  told, 
the  family  felt  inclined  to  go  visiting  in  a  body,  for 
each  found  something  very  attractive  in  the  big  house 
on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge.  Mrs.  March  wanted 
to  talk  of  her  father  with  the  old  man  who  had  not 
forgotten  him  ;  Meg  longed  to  walk  in  the  conserv- 
atory ;  Beth  sighed  for  the  grand  piano,  and  Amy  was 
eager  to  see  the  fine  pictures  and  statues. 

"  Mother,  why  didn't  Mr.  Laurence  like  to  have 
Laurie  play.?"  asked  Joe,  who  was  of  an  inquiring 
disposition. 

"  I  am  not  sure,  but  I  think  it  was  because  his  son. 
Laurie's  father,  married  an  Italian  lady,  a  musician, 
which  displeased  the  old  man,  who  is  very  proud. 
The  lady  was  good  and  lovely  and  accomplished,  but 
he  did  not  like  her,  and  never  saw  his  son  after  he 
married.     They  both  died  when   Laurie  was  a  little 


86  Little  Women, 

child,  and  then  his  grandfather  took  him  home.  I 
fancy  the  boy,  who  was  born  in  Italy,  is  not  very 
strong,  and  the  old  man  is  afraid  of  losing  him,  which 
makes  him  so  careful.  Laurie  comes  jiaturally  by  his 
love  of  music,  for  he  is  like  his  mother,  and  I  dare  say 
his  grandfather  fears  that  he  may  want  to  be  a  musi- 
cian ;  at  any  rate,  his  skill  reminds  him  of  the  woman 
he  did  not  like,  and  so  he  '  glowered,'  as  Jo  said." 

"  Dear  me,  how  romantic  !  "  exclaimed  Meg. 

"How  silly,"  said  Jo;  "let  him  be  a  musician,  if 
he  wants  to,  and  not  plague  his  life  out  sending  him 
to  college,  when  he  hates  to  go." 

"  That's  why  he  has  such  handsome  black  eyes  and 
pretty  manners,  I  suppose  ;  Italians  are  always  nice," 
said  Meg,  who  was  a  little  sentimental. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  his  eyes  and  his  man- 
ners.'' you  never  spoke  to  him,  hardly  ;  "  cried  Jo,  who 
was  not  sentimental. 

"  I  saw  him  at  the  party,  and  what  you  tell  shows 
that  he  knows  how  to  behave.  That  was  a  nice'  little 
speech  about  the  medicine  mother  sent  him." 

"  He  meant  the  blanc-mange,  I  suppose." 

"How  stupid  you  are,  child;  he  meant  you,  of 
course." 

"Did  he?"  and  Jo  opened  her  eyes  as  if  it  had 
never  occurred  to  her  before. 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  girl !  You  don't  know  a  com- 
pliment when  you  get  it,"  said  Meg,  with  the  air  of  a 
3^oung  lady  who  knew  all  about  the  matter. 

"  I  think  they  are  great  nonsense,  and  I'll  thank  you 
not  to  be  silly,  and  spoil  my  fun.  Laurie's  a  nice  boy, 
and  I  like  him,  and  I  won't  have  any  sentimental  stuff 


Being  Neighborly,  87 

about  compliments  and  such  rubbish.  We'll  all  be 
good  to  him,  because  he  hasn't  got  any  mother,  and 
he  may  come  over  and  see  us,  mayn't  he,  Marmee  ? " 

"Yes,  Jo,  your  little  friend  is  very  welcome,  and  I 
hope  Meg  w^ill  remember  that  children  should  be  chil- 
dren as  long  as  they  can." 

"  I  don't  call  myself  a  child,  and  I'm  not  in  my 
teens  yet,"  observed  Amy.  "  What  do  you  say, 
Beth?" 

"  I  was  thinking  about  our  'Pilgrim's  Progress,'" 
answered  Beth,  who  had  not  heard  a  word.  "  How 
we  got  out  of  the  Slough  and  through  the  Wicket 
Gate  by  resolving  to  be  good,  and  up  the  steep  hill,  by 
trying ;  and  that  maybe  the  house  over  there,  full  of 
splendid  things,  is  going  to  be  our  Palace  Beautiful.** 

"We  have  got  to  get  by^the  lions,  first,"  said  Jo,  as 
if  she  rather  liked  the  prospect. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BETH   FINDS   THE    PALACE   BEAUTIFUL. 

THE  big  house  did  prove  a  Palace  Beautiful, 
though  it  took  some  time  for  all  to  get  in,  and 
Beth  found  it  very  hard  to  pass  the  lions.  Old 
Mr.  Laurence  was  the  biggest  one ;  but,  after  he  had 
called,  said  something  funny  or  kind  to  each  one  of  the 
girls,  and  talked  over  old  times  v\^ith  their  mother, 
nobody  felt  much  afraid  of  him,  except  timid  Beth. 
The  other  lion  was  the  fact  that  they  were  poor  and 
Laurie  rich  ;  for  this  made  them  shy  of  accepting 
favors  which  they  could  not  return.  But  after  a  while 
they  found  that  he  considered  them  the  benefactors,  and 
could  not  do  enough  to  show  how  grateful  he  was  for 
Mrs.  March's  motherly  welcome,  their  cheerful  society, 
and  the  comfort  he  took  in  that  humble  home  of 
theirs ;  so  they  soon  forgot  their  pride,  and  inter- 
changed kindnesses  without  stopping  to  think  which 
was  the  greater. 

All  sorts  of  pleasant  things  happened  about  that 
time,  for  the  new  friendship  flourished  like  grass  in 
spring.  Every  one  liked  Laurie,  and  he  privately  in- 
formed his  tutor  that  "  the   Marches  were  regularly 

88 


Beth  finds  the  Palace  Beautiful,      89 

splendid  girls."  With  the  delightful  enthusiasm  of 
youth,  they  took  the  solitary  boy  into  their  midst,  and 
made  much  of  him,  and  he  found  something  very 
charming  in  the  innocent  companionship  of  these 
simple-hearted  girls.  Never  having  known  mother  or 
sisters,  he  was  quick  to  feel  the  influences  they  brought 
about  him  ;  and  their  busy,  lively  ways  made  him 
ashamed  of  the  indolent  life  he  led.  He  was  tired  of 
books,  and  found  people  so  interesting  now,  that  Mr. 
Brooke  was  obliged  to  make  very  unsatisfactory  re- 
ports ;  for  Laurie  was  always  playing  truant,  and 
running  over  to  the  Marches. 

"  Never  mind,  let  him  take  a  holiday,  and  make  it 
up  afterward,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "The  good 
lady  next  door  says  he  is  studying  too  hard,  and  needs 
young  society,  amusement,  and  exercise.  I  suspect 
she  is  right,  and  that  I've  been  coddling  the  fellow  as 
if  I'd  been  his  grandmother.  Let  him  do  what  he  likes, 
as  long  as  he  is  happy ;  he  can't  get  into  mischief  in 
that  little  nunnery  over  there,  and  Mrs.  March  is  doing 
more  for  him  than  we  can." 

What  good  times  they  had,  to  be  sure  !  Such  plays 
and  tableaux ;  such  sleigh-rides  and  skating  frolics ; 
such  pleasant  evenings  in  the  old  parlor,  and  now  and 
then  such  gay  little  parties  at  the  great  house.  Meg 
could  walk  in  the  conservatory  whenever  she  liked,  and 
revel  in  bouquets ;  Jo  browsed  over  the  new  library 
voraciously,  and  convulsed  the  old  gentleman  with  her 
criticisms  ;  Amy  copied  pictures  and  enjoyed  beauty  to 
her  heart's  content,  and  Laurie  played  lord  of  the 
manor  in  the  most  delightful  style. 

But  Beth,  though  yearning  for  the   grand  piano, 


90  Little  Women, 

could  not  pluck  up  courage  to  go  to  the  "  mansion  of 
bliss,"  as  Meg  called  it.  She  went  once  with  Jo,  but  the 
old  gentleman,  not  being  aware  of  her  infirmity,  stared 
at  her  so  hard  from  under  his  heavy  eyebrows,  and  said 
"  hey ! "  so  loud,  that  he  frightened  her  so  much  her 
"  feet  chattered  on  the  floor,"  she  told  her  mother  ;  and 
she  ran  away,  declaring  she  would  never  go  there  any 
more,  not  even  for  the  dear  piano.  No  persuasions  or 
enticements  could  overcome  her  fear,  till  the  fact  com- 
ing to  Mr.  Laurence's  ear  in  some  mysterious  way,  he 
set  about  mending  matters.  During  one  of  the  brief 
calls  he  made,  he  artfully  led  the  conversation  to  music, 
and  talked  away  about  great  singers  whom  he  had 
seen,  fine  organs  he  had  heard,  and  told  such  charming 
anecdotes,  that  Beth  found  it  impossible  to  stay  in  her 
distant  corner,  but  crept  nearer  and  nearer,  as  if  fasci- 
nated. At  the  back  of  his  chair  she  stopped,  and  stood 
listening  with  her  great  eyes  wide  open,  and  her  cheeks 
red  with  the  excitement  of  this  unusual  performance. 
Taking  no  more  notice  of  her  than  if  she  had  been  a 
flv,  Mr.  Laurence  talked  on  about  Laurie's  lessons  and 
teachers  ;  and  presently,  as  if  the  idea  had  just  occurred 
to  him,  he  said  to  Mrs.  March,  — 

"The  boy  neglects  his  music  now,  and  I'm  glad  of  it, 
for  he  was  getting  too  fond  of  it.  But  the  piano  suffers 
for  want  of  use  ;  womldn't  some  of  your  girls  like  to  run 
over,  and  practise  on  it  now  and,  then  just  to  keep  it 
in  tune,  you  know,  ma'am  ?  " 

Beth  took  a  step  forward,  and  pressed  her  hands 
tightly  together,  to  keep  from  clapping  them,  for  this 
was  an  irresistible  temptation  ;  and  the  thought  of  prac- 
tising on  that  splendid  instrument  quite  took  her  breath 


Beth  finds  the  Palace  Beautiful,      91 

away.  Before  Mrs.  March  could  reply,  Mr.  Laurence 
went  on  with  an  odd  little  nod  and  smile, — 

"  They  needn't  see  or  speak  to  any  one,  but  run  in 
at  any  time,  for  I'm  shut  up  in  my  study  at  the  other 
end  of  the  house.  Laurie  is  out  a  great  deal,  and  the 
servants  are  never  near  the  drawing-room  after  nine 
o'clock."  Here  he  rose,  as  if  going,  and  Beth  made  up 
her  mind  to  speak,  for  that  last  arrangement  left  nothing 
to  be  desired.  "  Please  tell  the  young  ladies  what  I 
say,  and  if  they  don't  care  to  come,  why,  never  mind  ;  " 
here  a  little  hand  slipped  into  his,  and  Beth  looked  up 
at  hlfe  with  a  face  full  of  gratitude,  as  she  said,  in  her 
earnest,  yet  timid  way,  — 

"  Oh,  sir  !  they  do  care,  very,  very  much  !  " 

"Are  you  the  musical  girl.?"  he  asked,  without  any 
startling  "  hey ! "  as  he  looked  down  at  her  very 
kindly. 

"  I'm  Beth ;  I  love  it  dearly,  and  I'll  come  if  you 
are  quite  sure  nobody  will  hear  me  —  and  be  dis- 
turbed," she  added,  fearing  to  be  rude,  and  trembling 
at  her  own  boldness  as  she  spoke. 

"  Not  a  soul,  my  dear ;  the  house  is  empty  half  the 
day,  so  come  and  drum  away  as  much  as  you  like, 
and  I  shall  be  obliged  to  you." 

"  How  kind  you  are,  sir." 

Beth  blushed  like  a  rose  under  the  friendly  look  he 
wore,  but  she  was  not  frightened  now,  and  gave 
the  big  hand  a  grateful  squeeze,  because  she  had  no 
words  to  thank  him  for  the  precious  gift  he  had  given 
her.  The  old  gentleman  softly  stroked  the  hair  off 
her  forehead,  and,  stooping  down,  he  kissed  her,  say- 
ing, in  a  tone  few  people  ever  heard,  — 


92  Little  Women, 

"  I  had  a  little  girl  once  with  eyes  like  these  ;  God 
bless  you,  my  dear ;  good-day,  madam,"  and  away  he 
went,  in  a  great  hurry. 

Beth  had  a  rapture  with  her  mother,  and  then 
rushed  up  to  impart  the  glorious  news  to  her  family 
of  invalids,  as  the  girls  were  not  at  home.  How 
blithely  she  sung  that  evening,  and  how  they  all 
laughed  at  her,  because  she  woke  Amy  in  the  night, 
by  playing  the  piano  on  her  face  in  her  sleep.  Next 
day,  having  seen  both  the  old  and  young  gentleman 
out  of  the  house,  Beth,  after  two  or  three  retreats, 
fairly  got  in  at  the  side-door,  and  made  her  way  as 
noiselessly  as  any  mouse  to  the  drawing-room,  where 
her  idol  stood.  Quite  by  accident,  of  course,  some 
pretty,  easy  music  lay  on  the  piano  ;  and,  with  trem- 
bling fingers,  and  frequent  stops  to  listen  and  look 
about,  Beth  at  last  touched  the  great  instrument,  and 
straightway  forgot  her  fear,  herself,  and  everything 
else  but  the  unspeakable  delight  which  the  music  gave 
her,  for  it  was  like  the  voice  of  a  beloved  friend. 

She  stayed  till  Hannah  came  to  take  her  home  to 
dinner ;  but  she  had  no  appetite,  and  could  only  sit 
and  smile  upon  every  one  in  a  general  state  of  beat- 
itude. 

After  that,  the  little  brown  hood  slipped  through 
the  hedge  nearly  every  day,  and  the  great  drawing- 
room  was  haunted  by  a  tuneful  spirit  that  came 
and  went  unseen.  She  never  knew  that  Mr.  Laur- 
ence often  opened  his  study  door  to  hear  the  old- 
fashioned  airs  he  liked ;  she  never  saw  Laurie  mount 
guard  in  the  hall,  to  warn  the  servants  away ;  she 
never    suspected   that    the    exercise-books    and    new 


Beth  finds  the  Palace  Beautiful,      93 

songs  which  she  found  in  the  rack  were  put  there 
for  her  especial  benefit ;  and  when  he  talked  to  her 
about  music  at  home,  she  only  thought  how  kind  he 
was  to  tell  things  that  helped  her  so  much.  So  she 
enjoyed  herself  heartily,  and  found,  what  isn't  always 
the  case,  that  her  granted  wish  was  all  she  had  hoped. 
Perhaps  it  was  because  she  was  so  grateful  for  this 
blessing  that  a  greater  was  given  her ;  at  any  rate,  she 
deserved  both. 

"  Mother,  I'm  going  to  work  Mr.  Laurence  a  pair  of 
slippers.  He  is  so  kind  to  me  I  must  thank  him,  and 
I  don't  know  any  other  way.  Can  I  do  it?"  asked 
Beth,  a  few  weeks  after  that  eventful  call  of  his. 

"Yes,  dear;  it  will  please  him  very  much,  and  be 
a  nice  way  of  thanking  hiin.  The  girls  will  help  you 
about  them,  and  I  will  pay  for  the  making  up,"  replied 
Mrs.  March,  who  took  peculiar  pleasure  in  granting 
Beth's  requests,  because  she  so  seldom  asked  anything 
for  herself. 

After  many  serious  discussions  with  Meg  and  Jo, 
the  pattern  was  chosen,  the  materials  bought,  and  the 
slippers  begun.  A  cluster  of  grave  yet  cheerful  pan- 
sies,  on  a  deeper  purple  ground,  was  pronounced  very 
appropriate  and  pretty,  and  Beth  worked  away  early 
and  late,  with  occasional  lifts  over  hard  parts.  She 
was  a  nimble  little  needle-woman,  and  they  were  fin- 
ished before  any  one  got  tired  of  them.  Then  she 
wrote  a  very  short,  simple  note,  and,  with  Laurie's 
help,  got  them  smuggled  on  to  the  study-table  one 
morning  before  the  old  gentleman  was  up. 

When  this  excitement  was  over,  Beth  waited  to  see 
what  would  happen.     All  that  day  passed,  and  a  part 


94  Little  Women, 

of  the  next,  before  any  acknowledgment  arrived,  and 
she  was  beginning  to  fear  she  had  offended  her  crot- 
chety friend.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day 
she  went  out  to  do  an  errand,  and  give  poor  Joanna, 
the  invalid  doll,  her  daily  exercise.  As  she  came  up 
the  street  on  her  return  she  saw  three  — yes,  four  heads 
popping  in  and  out  of  the  parlor  windows ;  and  the 
moment  they  saw  her  several  hands  were  waved,  and 
several  joyful  voices  screamed, — 

"  Here's  a  letter  from  the  old  gentleman ;  come 
quick,  and  read  it !  " 

"Oh,  Beth!  he's  sent  you  —  "began  Amy,  ges- 
ticulating with  unseemly  energy ;  but  she  got  no  fur- 
ther, for  Jo  quenched  her  by  slamming  down  the 
window. 

Beth  hurried  on  in  a  twitter  of  suspense  ;  at  the 
door  her  sisters  seized  and  bore  her  to  the  parlor  in  a 
triumphal  procession,  all  pointing,  and  all  saying  at 
once,  "Look  there !  look  there ! "  Beth  did  look, 
and  turned  pale  with  delight  and  surprise ;  for  there 
stood  a  little  cabinet  piano,  with  a  letter  lying  on  the 
glossy  lid,  directed  like  a  sign-board,  to  "Miss  Eliz- 
abeth March." 

"For  me.?"  gasped  Beth,  holding  on  to  Jo,  and 
-feeling  as  if  she  should  tumble  down,  it  was  such  an 
overwhelming  thing  altogether. 

"Yes;  all  for  you,  my  precious!  Isn't  it  splendid 
of  him?  Don't  you  think  he's  the  dearest  old  man  in 
the  world  ?  Here's  the  key  in  the  letter ;  we  didn't 
open  it,  but  we  are  dying  to  know  what  he  says," 
cried  Jo,  hugging  her  sister,  and  offering  the  note. 

"  You  read  it ;  I  can't,  I  feel  so  queer.     Oh,  it  is 


Beth  finds  the  Palace  Beautiful,     95 

too  lovely !  "  and   Beth   hid  her  face   in  Jo's  apron, 
quite  upset  by  her  present. 

Jo  opened  the  paper,  and  began  to  laugh,  for  the  first 
words  she  saw  were  :  — 

"  Miss  March  : 

'•'-Dear  Madam — " 

"  How  nice  it  sounds  !  I  wish  some  one  would 
write  to  me  so ! "  said  Amy,  who  thought  the  old- 
fashioned  address  very  elegant. 

"  '  I  have  had  many  pairs  of  slippers  in  my  life,  but 
I  never  had  any  that  suited  me  so  well  as  yours,'  " 
continued  Jo.  "  '  Heart' s-ease  is  my  favorite  flower, 
and  these  will  always  remind  me  of  the  gentle  giver. 
I  like  to  pay  my  debts,  so  I  know  you  will  allow  "  the 
old  gentleman  "  to  send  you  something  which  once 
belonged  to  the  little  granddaughter  he  lost.  With 
hearty  thanks,  and  best  wishes,  I  remain, 

"  '  Your  grateful  friend  and  humble  servant, 

"'James  Laurence.-" 

*' There,  Beth,  that's  an  honor  to  be  proud  of,  I'm 
sure !  Laurie  told  me  how  fond  Mr.  Laurence  used 
to  be  of  the  child  who  died,  and  how  he  kept  all  her 
little  things  carefully.  Just  think ;  he's  given  you  her 
piano  !  That  comes  of  having  big  blue  eyes  and  lov- 
ing music,"  said.  Jo,  trying  to  soothe  Beth,  who  trem- 
bled, and  looked  more  excited  than  she  had  ever  been 
before. 

"  See  the  cunning  brackets  to  hold  candles,  and  the 
nice  green  silk,  puckered  up  with  a  gold  rose  in  the 
middle,  and  the  pretty  rack  and  stool,  all  complete,'* 


96  Little   Women, 

added  Meg,  opening  the  instrument,  and  displaying  its 
beauties. 

"  '  Your  humble  servant,  James  Laurence  ; '  only 
think  of  his  writing  that  to  you.  I'll  tell  the  girls ; 
they'll  think  it's  killing,"  said  Amy,  much  impressed 
by  the  note. 

"  Try  it,  honey ;  let's  hear  the  sound  of  the  baby 
pianny,"  said  Hannah,  who  always  took  a  share  in 
the  family  joys  and  sorrows. 

So  Beth  tried  it,  and  every  one  pronounced  it  the 
most  remarkable  piano  ever  heard.  It  had  evidently 
been  newly  tuned,  and  put  in  apple-pie  order ;  but, 
perfect  as  it  was,  I  think  the  real  charm  of  it  lay  in  the 
happiest  of  all  happy  faces  which  leaned  over  it,  as 
Beth  lovingly  touched  the  beautiful  black  and  white 
keys,  and  pressed  the  shiny  pedals. 

"  You'll  have  to  go  and  thank  him,"  said  Jo,  by 
way  of  a  joke  ;  for  the  idea  of  the  child's  really  going, 
never  entered  her  head. 

"Yes,  I  mean  to ;  I  guess  I'll  go  now,  before  I  get 
frightened  thinking  about  it ;  "  and,  to  the  utter  amaze- 
ment of  the  assembled  family,  Beth  walked  deliber- 
ately down  the  garden,  through  the  hedge,  and  in  at 
the  Laurences  door. 

"  Well,  I  wish  I  may  die,  if  it  ain't  the  queerest 
thing  I  ever  see !  The  pianny  has  turned  her  head ; 
she'd  never  have  gone,  in  her  right  mind,"  cried  Han- 
nah, staring  after  her,  while  the  girls  were  rendered 
quite  speechless  by  the  miracle. 

They  would  have  been  still  more  amazed,  if  they 
had  seen  what  Beth  did  afterward.  If  you  will  be- 
lieve me,    she  went  and   knocked  at  the  study  door. 


Beth  finds  the  Palace  Beautiful,      97 

before  she  gave  herself  time  to  think ;  and  when  a 
gruff  voice  called  out,  "  Come  in ! "  she  did  go  in, 
right  up  to  Mr.  Laurence,  who  looked  quite  taken 
aback,  and  held  out  her  hand,  saying,  with  only  a 
small  quaver  in  her  voice,  "  I  came  to  thank  you,  sir, 
for  — "  but  she  didn't  finish,  for  he  looked  so  friendly 
that  she  forgot  her  speech ;  and,  only  remembering 
that  he  had  lost  the  little  girl  he  loved,  she  put  both 
arms  round  his  neck,  and  kissed  him. 

If  the  roof  of  the  house  had  suddenly  flown  off,  the 
old  gentleman  wouldn't  have  been  more  astonished ; 
but  he  liked  it — oh  dear,  3'^es  !  he  liked  it  amazingly  ; 
and  was  so  touched  and  pleased  by  that  confiding 
little  kiss,  that  all  his  crustiness  vanished  ;  and  he  just 
set  her  on  his  knee,  and  laid  his  wrinkled  cheek  against 
her  rosy  one,  feeling  as  if  he  had  got  his  own  little 
granddaughter  back  again.  Beth  ceased  to  fear  him 
from  that  moment,  and  sat  there  talking  to  him  as 
cosily  as  if  she  had  known  him  all  her  life ;  for 
love  casts  out  fear,  and  gratitude  can  conquer  pride. 
When  she  went  home,  he  walked  with  her  to  hei 
own  gate,  shook  hands  cordially,  and  touched  his  hat 
as  he  marched  back  again,  looking  very  stately  and 
erect,  like  a  handsome,  soldierly  old  gentleman,  as  he 
was. 

When  the  girls  saw  that  performance,  Jo  began  to 
dance  a  jig,  by  way  of  expressing  her  satisfaction ; 
Amy  nearly  fell  out  of  the  window  in  her  surprise, 
and  Meg  exclaimed,  with  uplifted  hands,  "  Well,  I  do 
believe  the  world  is  coming  to  an  end  !  " 
7 


CHAPTER  VII. 

amy's  valley  of  humiliation. 

THAT  boy  is  a  perfect  Cyclops,  isn't  he  ?  "  said 
Amy,  one  day,  as  Laurie  clattered  by  on  horse- 
back, with  a  flourish  of  his  ^vhip  as  he  passed. 

"  How  dare  you  say  so,  when  he's  got  both  his  eyes? 
and  very  handsome  ones  they  are,  too  ;  "  cried  Jo,  who 
resented  any  slighting  remarks  about  her  friend. 

"  I  didn't  say  anything  about  his  eyes,  and  I  don't 
see  why  you  need  fire  up  when  I  admire  his  riding." 

"  Oh,  my  goodness !  that  little  goose  means  a  cen- 
taur, and  she  called  him  a  Cyclops,"  exclaimed  Jo, 
with  a  burst  of  laughter. 

"You  needn't  be  so  rude,  it's  only  a  'lapse  of  lingy,' 
as  Mr.  Davis  says,"  retorted  Amy,  finishing  Jo  with 
her  Latin.  "  I  just  wish  I  had  a  little  of  the  money 
Laurie  spends  on  that  horse,"  she  added,  as  if  to  her- 
self, yet  hoping  her  sisters  would  hear. 

"Why?"  asked  Meg,  kindly,  for  Jo  had  gone  off  in 
another  laugh  at  Amy's  second  blunder. 

"  I  need  it  so  much  ;  I'm  dreadfully  in  debt,  and  it 
won't  be  my  turn  to  have  the  rag-money  for  a  month." 

"In  debt,  Amy;  what  do  you  mean?"  and  Meg 
looked  sober. 

98 


Amy^s  Valley  of  Hutniliation,        99 

"  Why,  I  owe  at  least  a  dozen  pickled  limes,  and  I 
can't  pay  them,  you  know,  till  I  have  money,  for  Mar- 
mee  forbid  my  having  anything  charged  at  the  shop." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it.  Are  limes  the  fashion  now? 
It  used  to  be  pricking  bits  of  rubber  to  make  balls  ;  '* 
and  Meg  tried  to  keep  her  countenance.  Amy  looked 
so  grave  and  important. 

"  Why,  you  see,  the  girls  are  always  buying  them, 
and  unless  you  want  to  be  thought  mean,  you  must  do 
it,  too.  It's  nothing  but  limes  now,  for  every  one  is 
sucking  them  in  their  desks  in  school-time,  and  trad- 
ing them  off  for  pencils,  bead-rings,  paper  dolls,  or 
something  else,  at  recess.  If  one  girl  likes  another, 
she  gives  her  a  lime ;  if  she's  mad  with  her,  she  eats 
one  before  her  face,  and  don't  offer  even  a  suck. 
They  treat  by  turns  ;  and  I've  had  ever  so  many,  but 
haven't  returned  them,  and  I  ought,  for  they  are  debts 
of  honor,  you  know." 

"  How  much  will  pay  them  off,  and  restore  your 
credit  .f*"  asked  Meg,  taking  out  her  purse. 

"  A  quarter  would  more  than  do  it,  and  leave  a  few 
cents  over  for  a  treat  for  you.     Don't  you  like  limes?" 

"  Not  much  ;  you  may  have  my  share.  Here's  the 
money,  —  make  it  last  as  long  as  you  can,  for  it  isn't 
very  plenty,  you  know." 

"Oh,  thank  you  !  it  must  be  so  nice  to  have  pocket- 
money.  I'll  have  a  grand  feast,  for  I  haven't  tasted  a 
lime  this  week.  I  felt  delicate  about  taking  any,  as  I 
couldn't  return  them,  and  I'm  actually  suffering  for 
one." 

Next  day  Amy  was  rather  late  at  school ;  but  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  of  displaying,  with  pardon- 


I  oo  L  it  tie   Wo  m  e  n . 

able  pride,  a  moist  brown  paper  parcel,  before  she 
consigned  it  to  the  inmost  recesses  of  her  desk.  Dur- 
ing the  next  few  minutes  the  rumor  that  Amy  March 
had  got  twenty-four  delicious  limes  (she  ate  one  on 
the  way),  and  was  going  to  treat,  circulated  through 
her  "  set,"  and  the  attentions  of  her  friends  became 
quite  overwhelming.  Kat)''  Brown  invited  her  to  her 
next  party  on  the  spot ;  Mary  Kingsley  insisted  on  lend- 
ing her  her  watch  till  recess,  and  Jenny  Snow,  a  satir- 
ical young  lady  who  had  basely  twitted  Amy  upon 
her  limeless  state,  promptly  buried  the  hatchet,  and 
offered  to  furnish  answers  to  certain  appalling  sums. 
But  Amy  had  not  forgotten  Miss  Snow's  cutting  re- 
marks about  "  some  persons  whose  noses  were  not  too 
flat  to  smell  other  people's  limes,  and  stuck-up  people, 
who  were  not  too  proud  to  ask  for  them ; "  and- she 
instantly  crushed  "that  Snow  girl's"  hopes  by  the 
withering  telegram,  "  You  needn't  be  so  polite  all  of 
a  sudden,  for  you  won't  get  any.",... 

A  distinguished  personage  happened  to  visit  the 
school  that  morning,  and  Amy's  beautifully  drawn 
maps  received  praise,  which  honor  to  her  foe  rankled 
in  the  soul  of  Miss  Snow,  and  caused  Miss  March  to 
assume  the  airs  of  a  studious  young  peacock.  But, 
alas,  alas !  pride  goes  before  a  fall,  and  the  revengeful 
Snow  turned  the  tables  with  disastrous  success.  No 
sooner  had  the  guest  paid  the  usual  stale  compliments, 
and  bowed  himself  out,  than  Jenny,  under  pretence  of 
asking  an  important  question,  informed  Mr.  Davis, 
the  teacher,  that  Amy  March  had  pickled  limes  in 
her  desk. 

Now  Mr.  Davis  had  declared  limes  a  contraband 


Amy^s  Valley  of  Humiliation.      loi 

article,  and  solemnly  vowed  to  publicly  ferule  the  first 
person  who  was  found  breaking  tHe  law.  This  much- 
enduring  man  had  succeeded  in  banishing  gum  after 
a  long  and  stormy  war,  had  made  a  bonfire  of  the 
confiscated  novels  and  newspapers,  had  suppressed  a 
private  post-office,  had  forbidden  distortions  of  the 
face,  nicknames,  and  caricatures,  and  done  all  that 
one  man  could  do  to  keep  half  a  hundred  rebellious 
girls  in  order.  Boys  are  trying  enough  to  human 
patience,  goodness  knows !  but  girls  are  infinitely 
more  so,  especially  to  nervous  gentlemen  with  tyran- 
nical tempers,  and  no  more  talent  for  teaching  than 
"  Dr.  Blimber."  Mr.  Davis  knew  any  quantity  of  Greek, 
Latin,  Algebra,  and  ologies  of  all  sorts,  so  he  was 
called  a  fine  teacher ;  and  manners,  morals,  feelings, 
and  examples  were  not  considered  of  any  particular 
importance.  It  was  a  most  unfortunate  moment  for 
denouncing  Amy,  and  Jenny  knew  it.  Mr.  Davis 
had  evidently  taken  his  coffee  too  strong  that  morn- 
ing ;  there  was  an  east  wind,  which  always  aflected 
his  neuralgia,  and  his  pupils  had  not  done  him  the 
credit  which  he  felt  he  desei^ved  ;  therefore,  to  use  the 
expressive,  if  not  elegant,  language  of  a  school-girl, 
"  he  was  as  nervous  as  a  witch  and  as  cross  as  a 
bear."  The  word  "limes"  was  like  fire  to  powder; 
his  yellow  face  flushed,  and  he  rapped  on  his  desk 
witb  an  energy  which  made  Jenny  skip  to  her  seat 
with  unusual  rapidity. 

"  Young  ladies,  attention,  if  you  please  !" 
.    At  the  stern  order  the  buzz  ceased,  and  fifty  pairs  of 
blue,  black,  gray,   and  brown   eyes  were  obediently 
fixed  upon  his  awful  countenance. 


I02  Little  Women, 

"  Miss  March,  come  to  the  desk." 

Amy  rose  to  comply,  with  outward  composure,  but 
a  secret  fear  oppressed  her,-  for  the  limes  weighed 
upon  her  conscience. 

"  Bring  with  you  the  limes  you  have  in  your  desk," 
was  the  unexpected  command  which  arrested  her 
before  she  got  out  of  her  seat. 

"  Don't  take  all,"  whispered  her  neighbor,  a  young 
lady  of  great  presence  of  mind. 

Amy  hastily  shook  out  half  a  dozen,  and  laid  the 
rest  down  before  Mr.  Davis,  feeling  that  any  man 
possessing  a  human  heart  would  relent  when  that 
delicious  perfume  met  his  nose.  Unfortunately,  Mr. 
Davis  particularly  detested  the  odor  of  the  fashionable 
pickle,  and  disgust  added  to  his  wrath. 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  Not  quite,"  stammered  Amy. 

"Bring  the  rest,  immediately." 

With  a  despairing  glance  at  her  set  she  obeyed. 

"You  are  sure  there  are  no  more.^*" 

"  I  never  lie,  sir." 

"So  I  see.  Now  take  these  disgusting  things,  two 
by  two,  and  throw  them  out  of  the  window." 

There  was  a  simultaneous  sigh,  which  created  quite 
a  little  gust  as  the  last  hope  fled,  and  the  treat  was  rav- 
ished from  their  longing  lips.  Scarlet  with  shame 
and  anger,  Amy  went  to  and  fro  twelve  mortal  times ; 
and  as  each  doomed  couple,  looking,  oh,  so  plump 
and  juicy !  fell  from  her  reluctant  hands,  a  shout  from 
the  street  completed  the  anguish  of  the  girls,  for  it 
told  them  that  their  feast  was  being  exulted  over 
by  the    little    Irish    children,  who  were    their  sworn 


Amys  Valley  of  Humiliation,      103 

foes.  This  —  this  was  too  much;  all  flashed  indig- 
nant or  appealing  glances  at  the  inexorable  Davis, 
and  one  passionate  lime-lover  burst  into  tears. 

As  Amy  returned  from  her  last  trip,  Mr.  Davis 
gave  a  portentous  "  hem,"  and  said,  in  his  most 
impressive  manner, — 

"  Young  ladies,  you  remember  what  I  said  to  you  a 
week  ago.  I  am  sorry  this  has  happened  ;  but  I  never 
allow  my  rules  to  be  infringed,  and  I  never  break  my 
word.     Miss  March,  hold  out  your  hand." 

Amy  started,  and  put  both  hands  behind  her,  turn- 
ing on  him  an  imploring  look,  which  pleaded  for  her 
better  than  the  words  she  could  not  utter.  She  was 
rather  a  favorite  with  "  old  Davis,"  as,  of  course,  he 
was  called,  and  it's  my  private  belief  that  he  would 
have  broken  his  word  if  the  indignation  of  one  irre- 
pressible young  lady  had  not  found  vent  in  a  hiss. 
That  hiss,  faint  as  it  was,  irritated  the  irascible  gen- 
tleman, and  sealed  the  culprit's  fate. 

"  Your  hand.  Miss  March!  "was  the  only  answer 
her  mute  appeal  received ;  and,  too  proud  to  cry  or 
beseech.  Amy  set  her  teeth,  threw  back  her  head 
defiantly,  and  bore  without  flinching  several  tingling 
blows  on  her  little  palm.  They  were  neither  many 
nor  heavy,  but  that  made  no  difference  to  her.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  had  been  struck  ;  and  the 
disgrace,  in  her  eyes,  was  as  deep  as  if  he  had  knocked 
her  down. 

"You  will  now  stand  on  the  platform  till  recess," 
said  Mr.  Davis,  resolved  to  do  the  thing  thoroughly, 
since  he  had  begun. 

That  was  dreadful ;  it  would  have  been  bad  enough 


I04  Little  Women. 

to  go  to  her  seat  and  see  the  pitying  faces  of  her 
friends,  or  the  satisfied  ones  of  her  few  enemies ;  but 
to  face  the  whole  school,  with  that  shame  fresh  upon 
her,  seemed  impossible,  and  for  a  second  she  felt  as  if 
she  could  only  drop  down  where  she  stood,  and  break 
her  heart  with  crying.  A  bitter  sense  of  wrong,  and 
the  thought  of  Jenny  Snow,  helped  her  to  bear  it ;  and, 
taking  the  ignominious  place,  she  fixed  her  eyes  on. 
the  stove-funnel  above  what  now  seemed  a  sea  of 
faces,  and  stood  there  so  motionless  and  white,  that 
the  girls  found  it  very  hard  to  study,  with  that  pathetic 
little  figure  before  them. 

During  the  fifteen  minutes  that  followed,  the  proud 
and  sensitive  little  girl  suffered  a  shame  and  pain 
which  she  never  forgot.  To  others  it  might  seem  a 
ludicrous  or  trivial  affair,  but  to  her  it  was  a  hard  ex- 
perience ;  for  during  the  twelve  years  of  her  life  she  had 
been  governed  by  love  alone,  and  a  blow  of  that  sort 
had  never  touched  her  before.  The  smart  of  her  hand, 
and  the  ache  of  her  heart,  were  forgotten  in  the  sting 
of  the  thought,  — 

^'  I  shall  have  to  tell  at  home,  and  they  will  be  so 
disappointed  in  me  !  " 

The  fifteen  minutes  seemed  an  hour ;  but  they  came 
to  an  end  at  last,  and  the  word  "  recess  !  "  had  never 
seemed  so  welcome  to  her  before. 

"  You  can  go,  Miss  March,"  said  Mr.  Davis,  looking, 
as  he  felt,  uncomfortable. 

He  did  not  soon  forget  the  reproachful  look  Amy 
gave  him,  as  she  went,  without  a  word  to  any  one, 
straight  into  the  anteroom,  snatched  her  things,  and 
left  the  place  "forever,"  as  she  passionately  declared 


Aftiy^s  Valley  of  Hu?niliatio?i.      105 

to  herself.  She  was  in  a  sad  state  when  she  got  home  ; 
and  when  the  older  girls  arrived,  some  time  later,  an 
indignation  meeting  was  held  at  once.  Mrs.  March 
did  not  say  much, 'but  looked  disturbed,  and  comforted 
her  afflicted  little  daughter  in  her  tenderest  manner. 
Meg  bathed  the  insulted  hand  with  glycerine  and 
tears  ;  Beth  felt  that  even  her  beloved  kittens  would  fail 
as  a  balm  for  griefs  like  this,  and  Jo  wrathfully  pro- 
posed that  Mr.  Davis  be  arrested  without  delay,  while 
Hannah  shook  her  fist  at  the  "  villain,"  and  pounded 
potatoes  for  dinner  as  if  she  had  him  under  her  pestle. 

No  notice  was  taken  of  Amy's  flight,  except  by  her 
mates  ;  but  the  sharp-eyed  demoiselles  discovered  that 
Mr.  Davis  was  quite  benignant  in  the  afternoon,  also 
unusually  nervous.  Just  before  school  closed,  Jo  ap- 
peared, wearing  a  grim  expression,  as  she  stalked  up 
to  the  desk,  and  delivered  a  letter  from  her  mother ; 
then  collected  Amy's  property,  and  departed,  carefully 
scraping  the  mud  from  her  boots  on  the  door-mat,  as 
if  she  shook  the  dust  of  the  place  off'  her  feet. 

"Yes,  you  can  have  a  vacation  from  school,  but  I 
want  you  to  study  a  little  every  day,  with  Beth,"  said 
Mrs.  March,  that  evening.  "  I  don't  approve  of  cor- 
poral punishment,  especially  for  girls.  I  dislike  Mr. 
Davis'  manner  of  teaching,  and  don't  think  the  girls 
you  associate  with  are  doing  you  any  good,  so  I  shall 
ask  your  father's  advice  before  I  send  you  anywhere 
else." 

"  That's  good !  I  wish  all  the  girls  would  leave, 
and  spoil  his  old  school.  It's  perfectly  maddening  to 
think  of  those  lovely  limes,"  sighed  Amy,  with  the  air 
of  a  martyr 


io6  Little  Women, 

"  I  am  not  sorry  you  lost  them,  for  you  broke  the 
rules,  and  deserved  some  punishment  for  disobe- 
dience," was  the  severe  reply,  vs^hich  rather  dis- 
appointed the  young  lady,  who  expected  nothing  but 
sympathy. 

"  Do  you  mean  you  are  glad  I  was  disgraced  before 
the  whole  school  ?  "  cried  Amy. 

"  I  should  not  have  chosen  that  way  of  mending  a 
fault,"  replied  her  mother;  "but  I'm  not  sure  that  it 
won't  do  you  more  good  than  a  milder  method.  You 
are  getting  to  be  altogether  too  conceited  and  impor- 
tant, my  dear,  and  it  is  quite  time  you  set  about 
correcting  it.  You  have  a  good  many  little  gifts  and 
virtues,  but  there  is  no  need  of  parading  them,  for 
conceit  spoils  the  finest  genius.  There  is  not  much 
danger  that  real  talent  or  goodness  will  be  overlooked 
long  ;  even  if  it  is,  the  consciousness  of  possessing  and 
using  it  well  should  satisfy  one,  and  the  great  charm 
of  all  power  is  modesty." 

"So  it  is,"  cried  Laurie,  who  was  playing  chess  in 
a  corner  with  Jo.  "I  knew  a  girl,  once,  who  had  a 
really  remarkable  talent  for  music,  and  she  didn't 
know  it ;  never  guessed  what  sweet  little  things  she 
composed  when  she  was  alone,  and  wouldn't  have 
believed  it  if  any  one  had  told  her." 

"  I  wish  I'd  known  that  nice  girl,  maybe  she  would 
have  helped  me,  I'm  so  stupid,"  said  Beth,  who  stood 
beside  him,  listening  eagerly. 

"  You  do  know  her,  and  she  helps  you  better  than 
any  one  else  could,"  answered  Laurie,  looking  at  her 
with  such  mischievous  meaning  in  his  merry  black 
eyes,  that  Beth  suddenly  turned  very  red,  and  hid  her 


Amy^s  Valley  of  Humiliation »      107 

face  in  the  sofa-cushion,  quite  overcome  by  such  an 
unexpected  discovery. 

Jo  let  Laurie  v^in  the  game,  to  pay  for  that  praise 
of  her  Beth,  who  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  play 
for  them  after  her  compliment.  So  Laurie  did  his 
best,  and  sung  delightfully,  being  in  a  particularly 
lively  humor,  for  to  the  Marches  he  seldom  showed 
the  moody  side  of  his  character.  When  he  was  gone, 
Amy,  who  had  been  pensive  all  the  evening,  said, 
suddenly,  as  if  busy  over  some  new  idea,  — • 

"Is  Laurie  an  accomplished  boy.?" 

"Yes;  he  has  had  an  excellent  education,  and  has 
much  talent ;  he  will  make  a  fine  man,  if  not  spoilt 
by  petting,"  replied  her  mother. 

"And  he  isn't  conceited,  is  he.?"  asked  Amy. 

"  Not  in  the  least ;  that  is  why  he  is  so  charming, 
and  we  all  like  him  so  much." 

"  I  see ;  it's  nice  to  have  accomplishments,  and  be 
elegant ;  but  not  to  show  off",  or  get  perked  up,"  said 
Amy,  thoughtfully. 

"  These  things  are  always  seen  and  felt  in  a  person's 
manner  and  conversation,  if  modestly  used ;  but  it 
is  not  necessary  to  display  them,"  said  Mrs.  March. 

"Any  more  than  it's  proper  to  wear  all  your  bonnets, 
and  gowns,  and  ribbons,  at  once,  that  folks  may  know 
you've  got  'em,"  added  Jo ;  and  the  lecture  ended  in  a 
laugh. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

JO     MEETS     APOLLYON. 

GIRLS,  where  are  you  going?  "  asked  Amy,  com- 
ing into  their  room  one   Saturday  afternoon, 
and  finding  them  getting  ready  to  go  out,  with 
an  air  of  secrecy  which  excited  her  curiosity. 

"  Never  mind  ;  little  girls  shouldn't  ask  questions,'* 
returned  Jo,  sharply. 

Now  if  there  is  anything  mortifying  to  our  feelings, 
when  we  are  young,  it  is  to  be  told  that ;  and  to  be 
bidden  to  "  run  away,  dear,"  is  still  more  trying  to  us. 
Amy  bridled  up  at  this  insult,  and  determined  to  find 
out  the  secret,  if  she  teased  for  an  hour.  Turning 
to  Meg,  who  never  refused  her  anything  very  long, 
she  said,  coaxingly,  "Do  tell  me!  I  should  think 
you  might  let  me  go,  too  ;  for  Beth  is  fussing  over  her  ; 
dolls,  and  I  haven't  got  anything  to  do,  and  am  so 
lonely." 

"  I  can't,  dear,  because  you  aren't  invited,"  began 
Meg;  but  Jo  broke  in  impatiently,  "Now,  Meg,  be 
quiet,  or  you  will  spoil  it  all.  You  can't  go.  Amy ; 
so  don't  be  a  baby,  and  whine  about  it." 

"  You  are  going  somewhere  with  Laurie,  I  know 
1 08 

# 


Jo  meets  Apollyon,  109 

you  are  ;  you  were  whispering  and  laughing  together, 
on  tlie  sofa,  last  night,  and  you  stopped  when  I  came 
in.     Aren't  you  going  with  him  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  we  are  ;  now  do  be  still,  and  stop  bothering." 

Amy  held  her  tongue,  but  used  her  eyes,  and  saw 
Meg  slip  a  fan  into  her  pocket. 

"  I  know !  I  know !  you're  going  to  the  theatre  to 
see  the  '  Seven  Castles  ! '  she  cried  ;  adding,  resolutely, 
*'  and  I  shall  go,  for  mother  said  I  might  see  it ;  and 
I've  got  my  rag-money,  and  it  was  mean  not  to  tell 
me  in  time." 

"Just  listen  to  me  a  minute,  and  be  a  good  child," 
said  Meg,  soothingly.  "  Mother  doesn't  wish  you  to 
go  this  week,  because  your  eyes  are  not  well  enough 
yet  to  bear  the  light  of  this  fairy  piece.  Next  week 
you  can  go  with  Beth  and  Hannah,  and  have  a  nice 
time." 

"  I  don't  like  that  half  as  well  as  going  with  you 
and  Laurie.  Please  let  me  ;  I've  been  sick  with  this 
cold  so  long,  and  shut  up,  I'm  dying  for  some  fun. 
Do,  Meg !  I'll  be  ever  so  good,"  pleaded  Amy,  look- 
ing as  pathetic  as  she  could. 

"  Suppose  we  take  her.  I  don*t  believe  mother 
would  mind,  if  we  bundle  her  up  well,"  began  Meg. 

"  If  she  goes  7^ shan't;  and  if  I  don't,  Laurie  won't 
like  it ;  and  it  will  be  very  rude,  after  he  invited  only 
us,  to  go  and  drag  in  Amy.  I  should  think  she'd  hate 
to  poke  herself  where  she  isn't  wanted,"  said  Jo, 
crossly,  for  she  disliked  the  trouble  of  overseeing  a 
fidgety  child,  when  she  wanted  to  enjoy  herself. 

Her  tone  and  manner  angered  Amy,  who  began  to 
put  her  boots    on,   saying,  in    her    most    aggravating 


no  Little  Women. 

way,  "  I  shall  go  ;  Meg  says  I  may  ;  and  if  I  pay  for 
myself,  Laurie  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  it." 

"  You  can't  sit  with  us,  for  our  seats  are  reserved, 
and  you  mustn't  sit  alone  ;  so  Laurie  will  give  you  his 
place,  and  that  will  spoil  our  pleasure ;  or  he'll  get 
another  seat  for  you,  and  that  isn't  proper,  when  you 
weren't  asked.  You  shan't  stir  a  step  ;  so  you  may  just 
stay  where  you  are,"  scolded  Jo,  crosser  than  ever, 
having  just  pricked  her  finger  in  her  hurry. 

Sitting  on  the  floor,  with  one  boot  on.  Amy  began 
to  cry,  and  Meg  to  reason  with  her,  when  Laurie 
called  from  below,  and  the  two  girls  hurried  down, 
leaving  their  sister  wailing ;  for  now  and  then  she  for- 
got her  grown-up  ways,  and  acted  like  a  spoilt  child. 
Just  as  the  party  was  setting  out.  Amy  called  over  the 
banisters,  in  a  threatening  tone,  "  You'll  be  sorry  for 
this,  Jo  March  !  see  if  you  ain't." 

"Fiddlesticks!"  returned  Jo,  slamming  the  door. 

They  had  a  charming  time,  for  "  The  Seven  Castles 
of  the  Diamond  Lake"  were  as  brilliant  and  won- 
derful as  heart  could  wish.  But,  in  spite  of  the 
comical  red  imps,  sparkling  elves,  and  gorgeous 
princes  and  princesses,  Jo's  pleasure  had  a  drop  of 
bitterness  in  it ;  the  fairy  queen's  yellow  curls  re- 
minded her  of  Amy  ;  and  between  the  acts  she  amused 
herself  with  wondering  what  her  sister  would  do  to 
make  her  "  sorry  for  it."  She  and  Amy  had  had 
many  lively  skirmishes  in  the  course  of  their  lives,  for 
both  had  quick  tempers,  and  were  apt  to  be  violent 
when  fairly  roused.  Amy  teased  Jo,  and  Jo  irritated 
Amy,  and  semi-occasional  explosions  occurred,  of 
which  both  were  much  ashamed  afterward.    Although 


yo  fueeis  Apollyon,  1 1 1 

the  oldest,  Jo  had  the  least  self-control,  and  had 
hard  times  trying  to  curb  the  fiery  spirit  which 
was  continually  getting  her  into  trouble  ;  her  anger 
never  lasted  long,  and,  having  humbly  confessed  her 
fault,  she  sincerely  repented,  and  tried  to  do  better. 
Her  sisters  used  to  say,  that  they  rather  liked  to  get 
Jo  into  a  fury,  because  she  was  such  an  angel  after- 
ward. Poor  Jo  tried  desperately  to  be  good,  but  her 
bosom  enemy  was  always  ready  to  flame  up  and  defeat 
her ;  and  it  took  years  of  patient  effort  to  subdue  it. 

When  they  got  home,  they  found  Amy  reading  in 
the  parlor.  She  assumed  an  injured  air  as  they  came 
in ;  never  lifted  her  eyes  from  her  book,  or  asked  a 
single  question.  Perhaps  curiosity  might  have  con- 
quered resentment,  if  Beth  had  not  been  there  to 
inquire,  and  receive  a  glowing  description  of  the  play. 
On  going  up  to  put  away  her  best  hat,  Jo's  first  look 
was  toward  the  bureau  ;  for,  in  their  last  quarrel,  Amy 
had  soothed  her  feelings  by  turning  Jo's  top  drawer 
upside  down,  on  the  floor.  Everything  was  in  its 
place,  however ;  and  after  a  hasty  glance  into  her 
various  closets,  bags  and  boxes,  Jo  decided  that  Amy 
had  forgiven  and  forgotten  her  wrongs. 

There  Jo  was  mistaken ;  for  next  day  she  made  a 
discovery  which  produced  a  tempest.  Meg,  Beth  and 
Amy  were  sitting  together,  late  in  the  afternoon, 
when  Jo  burst  into  the  room,  looking  excited,  and 
demanding,  breathlessly,  "  Has  any  one  taken  my 
story.?" 

Meg  and  Beth  said  "  No,"  at  once,  and  looked  sur- 
prised ;   Amy    poked  the  fire,  and  said  nothing.    Jo 


112  Little  Women, 

saw  her  color  rise,  and  was  down  upon  her  in  a 
minute. 

"  Amy,  you've  got  it !  " 

"  No,  I  haven't." 

"  You  know  where  it  is,  then  !  '* 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"  Thaf  s  a  fib  !  "  cried  Jo,  taking  her  by  the  shoul- 
ders, and  looking  .fierce  enough  to  frighten  a  much 
braver  child  than  Amy. 

"It  isn't.  I  haven't  got  it,  don't  know  where  it  is 
now,  and  don't  care." 

"  You  know  something  about  it,  and  you'd  better 
tell  at  once,  or  I'll  make  you,"  and  Jo  gave  her  a  slight 
shake. 

"  Scold  as  much  as  you  like,  you'll  never  get  your 
silly  old  story  again,"  cried  Amy,  getting  excited  in 
her  turn. 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  burnt  it  up." 

"  What !  my  little  book  I  was  so  fond  of,  and 
worked  over,  and  meant  to  finish  before  father  got 
home  ?  Have  you  really  burnt  it  ?  "  said  Jo,  turning 
very  pale,  while  her  eyes  kindled  and  her  hands 
clutched  Amy  nervously. 

"  Yes,  I  did !  I  told  you  I'd  make  you  pay  for 
being  so  cross  yesterday,  and  I  have,  so  — " 

Amy  got  no  farther,  for  Jo's  hot  temper  mastered 
her,  and  she  shook  Amy  till  her  teeth  chattered  in  her 
head  ;  crying,  in  a  passion  of  grief  and  anger,  — 

"  You  wicked,  wicked  girl !  I  never  can  write  it 
again,  and  I'll  never  forgive  you  as  long  as  I  live." 

Meg  flew  to  rescue  Amy,  and  Beth  to  pacify  Jo,  but 


Jo  meets  Af  oily  on,  113 

Jo  was  quite  beside  herself;  and,  with  a  parting  box 
on  her  sister's  ear,  she  rushed  out  of  the  room  up  to 
the  old  sofa  in  the  garret,  and  finished  her  fight  alone. 

The  storm  cleared  up  below,  for  Mrs.  March  came 
home,  and,  having  heard  the  story,  soon  brought  Amy 
to  a  sense  of  the  wrong  she  had  done  her  sister.  Jo's 
book  was  the  pride  of  her  heart,  and  was  regarded 
by  her  family  as  a  licerary  sprout  of  great  promise.  It 
was  only  half  a  dozen  little  fairy  tales,  but  Jo  had 
worked  over  them  patiently,  putting  her  whole  heart 
into  her  work,  hoping  to  make  something  good  enough 
to  print.  She  had  just  copied  them  with  great  care, 
and  had  destroyed  the  old  manuscript,  so  that  Amy's 
bonfire  had  consumed  the  loving  work  of  several 
years.  It  seemed  a  small  loss  to  others,  but  to  Jo  it 
was  a  dreadful  calamity,  and  she  felt  that  it  never 
could  be  made  up  to  her.  Beth  mourned  as  for  a 
departed  kitten,  and  Meg  refused  to  defend  her  pet ; 
Mrs.  March  looked  grave  and  grieved,  and  Amy  felt 
that  no  one  would  love  her  till  she  had  asked  pardon 
for  the  act  which  she  now  regretted  more  than  any  of 
them. 

When  the  tea-bell  rung,  Jo  appeared,  looking  so 
grim  and  unapproachable,  that  it  took  all  Amy's 
courage  to  say,  meekly, — 

"  Please  forgive  me,  Jo  ;  I'm  very,  very  sorry." 

"  I  never  shall  forgive  you,"  was  Jo's  stern  answer ; 
and,  from  that  moment,  she  ignored  Amy  entirely. 

No  one  spoke  of  the  great  trouble,  —  not  even  Mrs. 

March,  —  for  all  had  learned  by  experience  that  when 

Jo  was  in  that  mood  words  were  wasted ;   and  the 

wisest  course  was  to  wait  till  some  little  accident,  or 

8 


114  Little  Women, 

her  own  generous  nature,  softened  Jo's  resentment,  and 
healed  the  breach.  It  was  not  a  happy  evening  ;  for, 
though  they  sewed  as  usual,  while  their  mother  read 
aloud  from  Bremer,  Scott,  or  Edgeworth,  something 
was  wanting,  and  the  sweet  home-peace  was  disturbed. 
They  felt  this  most  when  singing-time  came  ;  for  Beth 
could  only  play,  Jo  stood  dumb  as  a  stone,  and  Amy 
broke  down,  so  Meg  and  mother  sung  alone.  But,  in 
spite  of  their  efforts  to  be  as  cheery  as  larks,  the  flute- 
like voices  did  not  seem  to  chord  as  well  as  usual,  and 
all  felt  out  of  tune. 

As  Jo  received  her  good-night  kiss,  Mrs.  March 
whispered,  gently, — 

"My  dear,  don't  let  the  sun  go  down  upon  your 
anger ;  forgive  each  other,  help  each  other,  and  begin 
again  to-morrow." 

Jo  wanted  to  lay  her  head  down  on  that  motherly 
bosom,  and  cry  her  grief  and  anger  all  away  ;  but  tears 
were  an  unmanly  weakness,  and  she  felt  so  deeply 
injured  that  she  really  couldn't  quite  forgive  yet.  So 
she  winked  hard,  shook  her  head,  and  said,  gruffly, 
because  Amy  was  listening,  — 

"  It  was  an  abominable  thing,  and  she  don't  deserve 
to  be  foi'given." 

With  that  she  marched  off  to  bed,  and  there  was 
no  merry  or  confidential  gossip  that  night. 

Amy  was  much  offended  that  her  overtures  of  peace 
had  been  repulsed,  and  began  to  wish  she  had  not 
humbled  herself,  to  feel  more  injured  than  ever,  and 
to  plume  herself  on  her  superior  virtue  in  a  waywhich 
was  particularly  exasperating.  Jo  still  looked  like  a 
thunder-cloud,  and  nothing  went  well  all  day.    It  was 


yo  meets  Af  oily  on,  115 

bitter  cold  in  the  morning ;  she  dropped  her  precious 
turn-over  in  the  gutter,  Aunt  March  had  an  attack  of 
fidgets,  Meg  was  pensive,  Beth  would  look  grieved 
and  wistful  when  she  got  home,  and  Amy  kept  mak- 
ing remarks  about  people  who  were  always  talking 
about  being  good,  and  yet  wouldn't  try,  when  other 
people  set  them  a  virtuous  example. 

"Everybody  is  so  hateful,  I'll  ask  Laurie  to  go 
skating.  He  is  always  kind  and  jolly,  and  will  put 
me  to  rights,  I  know,"  said  Jo  to  herself,  and  off  she 
went. 

Amy  heard  the  clash  of  skates,  and  looked  out  with 
an  impatient  exclamation,  — 

"  There !  she  promised  I  should  go  next  time,  for 
this  is  the  last  ice  we  shall  have.  But  it's  no  use  to 
ask  such  a  cross  patch  to  take  me." 

"  Don't  say  that ;  you  were  very  naughty,  and  it  is 
hard  to  forgive  the  loss  of  her  precious  little  book ; 
but  I  think  she  might  do  it  now,  and  I  guess  she  will, 
if  you  try  her  at  the  right  minute,"  said  Meg.  "  Go 
after  them ;  don't  say  anything  till  Jo  has  got  good- 
natured  with  Laurie,  then  take  a  quiet  minute,  and 
just  kiss  her,  or  do  some  kind  thing,  and  I'm  sure 
she'll  be  friends  again,  with  all  her  heart." 

"I'll  try,"  said  Amy,  for  the  advice  suited  her ;  and, 
after  a  flurry  to  get  ready,  she  ran  after  the  friends, 
who  were  just  disappearing  over  the  hill. 

It  was  not  far  to  the  river,  but  both  were  ready 
before  Amy  reached  them.  Jo  saw  her  coming,  and 
turned  her  back  ;  Laurie  did  not  see,  for  he  was  care- 
fully skating  along  the  shore,  sounding  the  ice,  for  a 
warm  spell  had  preceded  the  cold  snap. 


ii6  Little  Women, 

"  I'll  go  on  to  the  first  bend,  and  see  if  it's  all  right, 
before  we  begin  to  race,"  Amy  heard  him  say,  as  he 
shot  away,  looking  like  a  young  Russian,  in  his 
fur-trimmed  coat  and  cap. 

Jo  heard  Amy  panting  after  her  run,  stamping  her  feet, 
and  blowing  her  fingers,  as  she  tried  to  put  her  skates 
on  ;  but  Jo  never  turned,  and  went  slowly  zigzagging 
down  the  river,  taking  a  bitter,  unhappy  sort  of  satis- 
tion  in  her  sister's  troubles.  She  had  cherished  her 
anger  till  it  grew  strong,  and  took  possession  of  her,  as 
evil  thoughts  and  feelings  always  do,  unless  cast  out 
at  once.  As  Laurie  turned  the  bend,  he  shouted 
back,  — 

"  Keep  near  the  shore  ;  it  isn't  safe  in  the  middle." 

Jo  heard,  but  Amy  was  just  struggling  to  her  feet, 
and  did  not  catch  a  word.  Jo  glanced  over  her  shoul- 
der, and  the  little  demon  she  was  harboring  said  in 
her  ear, — 

"  No  matter  whether  she  heard  or  not,  let  her  take 
care  of  herself." 

Laurie  had  vanished  round  the  bend  ;  Jo  was  just  at 
the  turn,  and  Amy,  far  behind,  striking  out  toward  the 
smoother  ice  in  the  middle  of  the  river.  For  a  min- 
ute Jo  stood  still,  with  a  strange  feeling  at  her  heart ; 
then  she  resolved  to  go  on,  but  something  held  and 
turned  her  round,  just  in  time  to  see  Amy  throw  up 
her  hands  and  go  down,  with  the  sudden  crash  of  rot- 
ten ice,  the  splash  of  water,  and  a  cry  that  made  Jo's 
heart  stand  still  with  fear.  She  tried  to  call  Laurie, 
but  her  voice  was  gone  ;  she  tried  to  rush  forward, 
but  her  feet  seemed  to  have  no  strength  in  them ;  and, 
for  a  second,  she  could  only  stand  motionless,  staring, 


"Keep  near  the  shore;  it  isn't  safe  in  the  middle."  Jo  heard, 
but  Amy  was  just  struggling  to  her  feet,  and  did  not  catch  a  word.  — 
Page  116. 


yo  meets  A-pollyon,  117 

with  a  terror-stricken  face,  at  the  little  blue  hood 
above  the  black  water.  Something  rushed  swiftly  by 
her,  and  Laurie's  voice  cried  out,  — 

''  Bring  a  rail ;  quick,  quick  !  " 

How  she  did  it,  she  never  knew ;  but  for  the  next 
few  minutes  she  worked  as  if  possessed,  blindly  obey- 
ing Laurie,  who  was  quite  self-possessed ;  and,  lying 
flat,  held  Amy  up  by  his  arm  and  hockey,  till  Jo 
dragged  a  rail  from  the  fence,  and  together  they  got 
the  child  out,  more  frightened  than  hurt. 

"Now  then,  we  must  walk  her  home  as  fast  as  we 
can  ;  pile  our  things  on  her,  while  I  get  off  these 
confounded  skates,"  cried  Laurie,  wrapping  his  coat 
round  Amy,  and  tugging  away  at  the  straps,  which 
never  seemed  so  intricate  before. 

Shivering,  dripping,  and  crying,  they  got  Amy 
home  ;  and,  after  an  exciting  time  of  it,  she  fell  asleep, 
rolled  in  blankets,  before  a  hot  fire.  During  the 
bustle  Jo  had  scarcely  spoken ;  but  flown  about,  look- 
ing pale  and  wild,  with  her  things  half  off*,  her  dress 
torn,  and  her  hands  cut  and  bruised  by  ice  and  rails, 
and  refractory  buckles.  When  Amy  was  comfortably 
asleep,  the  house  quiet,  and  Mrs.  March  sitting  by  the 
bed,  she  called  Jo  to  her,  and  began  to  bind  up  the 
hurt  hands. 

"Are  you  sure  she  is  safe.?"  whispered  Jo,  looking 
remorsefully  at  the  golden  head,  which  might  have 
been  swept  away  from  her  sight  forever,  under  the 
treacherous  ice. 

"  Qtiite  safe,  dear ;  she  is  not  hurt,  and  won't  even 
take  cold,  I  think,  you  were  so  sensible   in  covering 


ii8  Little  Women, 

and  getting  her  home  quickly,"  replied  her  mother, 
cheerfully. 

"  Laurie  did  it  all ;  I  only  let  her  go.  Mother,  if  she 
should  die,  it  would  be  my  fault ; "  and  Jo  dropped 
down  beside  the  bed,  in  a  passion  of  penitent  tears, 
telling  all  that  had  happened,  bitterly  condemning  her 
hardness  of  heart,  and  sobbing  out  her  gratitude  for 
being  spared  the  heavy  punishment  which  might  have 
come  upon  her. 

"  It's  my  dreadful  temper  !  I  try  to  cure  it ;  I  think 
I  have,  and  then  it  breaks  out  worse  than  ever.  Oh, 
mother !  what  shall  I  do !  what  shall  I  do  ? "  cried 
poor  Jo,  in  despair. 

"  Watch  and  pray,  dear  ;  never  get  tired  of  trying  ; 
and  never  think  it  is  impossible  to  conquer  your 
fault,"  said  Mrs.  March,  drawing  the  blowzy  head 
to  her  shoulder,  and  kissing  the  wet  cheek  so  tenderly, 
that  Jo  cried  harder  than  ever. 

"You  don't  know;  you  can't  guess  how  bad  it  is! 
It  seems  as  if  I  could  do  anything  when  I'm  in  a 
passion  ;  I  get  so  savage,  I  could  hurt  any  one,  and 
enjoy  it.  I'm  afraid  I  shall  do  something  dreadful 
some  day,  and  spoil  my  life,  and  make  everybody 
hate  me.     Oh,  mother  !  help  me,  do  help  me  !  " 

"I  will,  my  child;  I  will.  Don't  cry  so  bitterly, 
but  remember  this  day,  and  resolve,  with  all  your  soul, 
that  you  will  never  know  another  like  it.  Jo,  dear, 
we  all  have  our  temptations,  some  far  greater  than 
yours,  and  it  often  takes  us  all  our  lives  to  conquer 
them.  You  think  your  temper  is  the  worst  in  the 
world ;  but  mine  used  to  be  just  like  it." 


Jo  meets  Apollyon,  119 

"Yours,  mother?  Why,  you  are  never  angry!'* 
and,  for  the  moment,  Jo  forgot  remorse  in  surprise. 

"  I've  been  trying  to  cure  it  for  forty  years,  and 
have  only  succeeded  in  controlling  it.  I  am  angry 
nearly  every  day  of  my  life,  Jo  ;  but  I  have  learned 
not  to  show^  It ;  and  I  still  hope  to  learn  not  to  feel  it, 
though  it  may  take  me  another  forty  years  to  do  so." 

The  patience  and  the  humility  of  the  face  she  loved 
so  well,  was  a  better  lesson  to  Jo  than  the  wisest 
lecture,  the  sharpest  reproof.  She  felt  comforted  at 
once  by  the  sympathy  and  confidence  given  her ;  the 
knowledge  that  her  mother  had  a  fault  like  hers,  and 
tried  to  mend  it,  made  her  own  easier  to  bear,  and 
strengthened  her  resolution  to  cure  it ;  though  forty 
years  seemed  rather  a  long  time  to  watch  and  pray, 
to  a  girl  of  fifteen. 

"  Mother,  are  you  angry  when  you  fold  your  lips 
tight  together,  and  go  out  of  the  room  sometimes, 
when  Aunt  March  scolds,  or  people  worry  you?" 
asked  Jo,  feeling  nearer  and  dearer  to  her  mother  than 
ever  before. 

"  Yes,  I've  learned  to  check  the  hasty  words  that 
rise  to  my  lips ;  and  when  I  feel  that  they  mean  to 
break  out  against  my  will,  I  just  go  away  a  minute, 
and  give  myself  a  little  shake,  for  being  so  weak  and 
wicked,"  answered  Mrs.  March,  with  a  sigh  and  a 
smile,  as  she  smoothed  and  fastened  up  Jo's  dishev- 
elled hair. 

"  How  did  you  learn  to  keep  still  ?  That  is  what 
troubles  me  —  for  the  sharp  words  fly  out  before  I 
know  what  I'm  about ;  and  the  more  I  say  the  worse  I 
get,  till  it's  a  pleasure  to  hurt  people's  feelings,  and 


I20  Little   Women, 

say  dreadful  things.     Tell  me  how  you  do  it,  Marmee 
dear/'    * 

"My  good  mother  used  to  help  me  —  " 
"  As  you  do  us  — "  interrupted  Jo,  with  a  grateful 
kiss. 

"  But  I  lost  her  when  I  was  a  little  older  than  you 
are,  and  for  years  had  to  struggle  on  alone,  for  I  was 
too  proud  to  confess  my  weakness  to  any  one  else.  I 
had  a  hard  time,  Jo,  and  shed  a  good  many  bitter 
tears  over  my  failures ;  for,  in  spite  of  my  efforts,  I 
never  seemed  to  get  on.  Then  your  father  came,  and 
I  was  so  happy  that  I  found  it  easy  to  be  good.  But 
by  and  by,  when  I  had  four  little  daughters  round  me, 
and  we  were  poor,  then  the  old  trouble  began  again  ; 
for  I  am  not  patient  by  nature,  and  it  tried  me  very 
much  to  see  my  children  wanting  anything." 
"  Poor  mother  !  what  helped  you  then } " 
"Your  father,  Jo.  He  never  loses  patience, — 
never  doubts  or  complains,  —  but  always  hopes,  and 
works,  and  waits  so  cheerfully,  that  one  is  ashamed  to 
do  otherwise  before  him.  He  helped  and  comforted 
me,  and  showed  me  that  I  must  try  to  practise  all  the 
virtues  I  would  have  my  little  girls  possess,  for  I  was 
their  example.  It  was  easier  to  try  for  your  sakes 
than  for  my  own ;  a  startled  or  surprised  look  from 
one  of  you,  when  I  spoke  sharply,  rebuked  me  more 
than  any  words  could  have  done ;  and  the  love, 
respect,  and  confidence  of  my  children  was  the  sweet- 
est reward  I  could  receive  for  my  efforts  to  be  the 
woman  I  would  have  them  copy." 

"  Oh,  mother !  if  I'm  ever  half  as  good  as  you,  I 
shall  be  satisfied,"  cried  Jo,  much  touched. 


Jo  fneets  Apollyon.  121 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  a  great  deal  better,  dear ;  but 
you  must  keep  watch  over  your  '  bosom  enem}'^,'  as 
father  calls  it,  or  it  may  sadden,  if  not  spoil  your  life. 
You  have  had  a  warnmg ;  remember  it,  and  try  with 
heart  and  soul  to  master  this  quick  temper,  before  it 
brings  you  greater  sorrow  and  regret  than  you  have 
known  today." 

"  I  will  try,  mother ;  I  truly  will.  But  you  must 
help  me,  remind  me,  and  keep  me  from  flying  out.  I 
used  to  see  father  sometimes  put  his  finger  on  his  lips, 
and  look  at  you  with  a  very  kind,  but  sober  face  ;  and 
you  always  folded  your  lips  tight,  or  went  away  ;  was 
he  reminding  you  then.?"  asked  Jo,  softly. 

''Yes;  I  asked  him  to  help  me  so,  and  he  never 
forgot  it,  but  saved  me  from  many  a  sharp  word  by 
that  little  gesture  and  kind  look." 

Jo  saw  that  her  mother's  eyes  filled,  and  her  lips 
trembled,  as  she  spoke ;  and,  fearing  that  she  had  said 
too  much,  she  whispered  anxiously,  "Was  it  wrong 
to  watch  you,  and  to  speak  of  it.^*  I  didn't  mean  to 
be  rude,  but  it's  so  comfortable  to  say  all  I  think  to 
you,  and  feel  so  safe  and  happy  here." 

"My  Jo,  you  may  say  anything  to  your  mother,  for 
it  is  my  greatest  happiness  and  pride  to  feel  that  my 
girls  confide  in  me,  and  know  how  much  I  love  them." 

"  I  thought  I'd  grieved  you." 

"  No,  dear ;  but  speaking  of  father  reminded  me 
how  much  I  miss  him,  how  much  I  owe  him,  and 
how  faithfully  I  should  watch  and  work  to  keep  his 
little  daughters  safe  and  good  for  him." 

"Yet  you  told  him  to  go,  mother,  and   didn't  cry 


122  Little   Women, 

when  he  went,  and  never  complain  now,  or  seem  as 
if  you  needed  any  help,"  said  Jo,  wondering. 

"I  gave  my  best  to  the  country  I  love,  and  kept 
my  tears  till  he  was  gone.  Why  should  I  complain, 
when  we  both  have  merely  done  our  duty,  and  will 
surely  be  the  happier  for  it  in  the  end?  If  I  don't 
seem  to  need  help,  it  is  because  I  have  a  better  friend, 
even  than  father,  to  comfort  and  sustain  me.  My 
child,  the  troubles  and  temptations  of  your  life  are 
beginning,  and  may  be  many  ;  but  you  can  overcome 
and  outlive  them  all,  if  you  learn  to  feel  the  strength 
and  tenderness  of  your  Heavenly  Father  as  you  do 
that  of  your  earthly  one.  The  more  you  love  and 
trust  Him,  the  nearer  you  will  feel  to  Him,  and  the 
less  you  will  depend  on  human  power  and  wisdom. 
His  love  and  care  never  tire  or  change,  can  never  be 
taken  from  you,  but  may  become  the  source  of  life- 
long peace,  happiness,  and  strength.  Believe  this 
heartily,  and  go  to  God  with  all  your  little  cares,  and 
hopes,  and  sins,  and  sorrows,  as  freely  and  confidingly 
as  you  come  to  your  mother." 

jo's  only  answer  was  to  hold  her  mother  close,  and, 
in  the  silence  which  followed,  the  sincerest  prayer  she 
had  ever  prayed  left  her  heart,  without  words  ;  for  in 
that  sad,  yet  happy  hour,  she  had  learned  not  only  the 
bitterness  of  remorse  and  despair,  but  the  sweetness 
of  self-denial  and  self-control ;  and,  led  by  her  mother's 
hand,  she  had  drawn  nearer  to  the  Friend  who  wel- 
comes every  child  with  a  love  stronger  than  that  of 
any  father,  tenderer  than  that  of  any  mother. 

Amy  stirred,  and  sighed  in  her  sleep  ;  and,  as  if 
eager  to  begin  at  once  to  mend  her  fault,  Jo  looked  up 


Jo  meets  Apollyon,  123 

with  an  expression  on  her  face  which  it  had  never 
worn  before. 

"I  let  the  sun  go  down  on  my  anger ;  I  wouldn't 
forgive  her,  and  today,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Laurie, 
It  might  have  been  too  late !  How  could  I  be  so 
wicked?"  said  Jo,  half  aloud,  as  she  leaned  over  her 
sister,  softly  stroking  the  wet  hair  scattered  on  the 
pillow. 

As  if  she  heard.  Amy  opened  her  eyes,  and  held 
out  her  arms,  with  a  smile  that  went  straight  to  Jo's 
heart.  Neither  said  a  word,  but  they  hugged  one 
another  close,  in  spite  of  the  blankets,  and  everything 
was  forgiven  and  forgotten  in  one  hearty  kiss. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

MEG    GOES    TO    VANITY     FAIR. 

I  DO  think  it  was  the  most  fortunate  thing  in  the 
world,  that  those  children  should  have  the 
measles  just  now,"  said  Meg,  one  April  day,  as 
she  stood  packing  the  "  go  abroady "  trunk  in  her 
room,  surrounded  by  her  sisters. 

"And  so  nice  of  Annie  Moffat,  not  to  forget  her 
promise.  A  whole  fortnight  of  fun  will  be  regularly 
splendid,"  replied  Jo,  looking  like  a  windmill,  as  she 
folded  skirts  with  her  long  arms. 

"  And  such  lovely  weather ;  I'm  so  glad  of  that," 
added  Beth,  tidily  sorting  neck  and  hair  ribbons  in 
her  best  box,  lent  for  the  great  occasion. 

"  I  wish  I  was  going  to  have  a  fine  time,  and  wear 
all  these  nice  things,"  said  Amy,  with  her  mouth  full 
of  pins,  as  she  artistically  replenished  her  sister's 
cushion. 

"  I  wish  you  were  all  going;  but,  as  you  can't,  I 
shall  keep  my  adventures  to  tell  you  when  I  come 
back.  I'm  sure  it's  the  least  I  can  do,  when  you  have 
been  so  kind,  lending  me  things,  and  helping  me  get 
read}',"  said  Meg,  glancing    round   the   room    at  the 

124 


Meg  goes  to   Vanity  Fair.  125 

very  simple  outfit,  which  seemed  nearly  perfect  in 
their  eyes. 

"What  did  mother  give  you  out  of  the  treasure- 
box  ? "  asked  Amy,  w^ho  had  not  been  present  at  the 
opening  of  a  certain  cedar  chest,  in  which  Mrs.  March 
kept  a  few  relics  of  past  splendor,  as  gifts  for  her 
girls  when  the  proper  time  came. 

*'  A  pair  of  silk  stockings,  that  pretty  carved  fan, 
and  a  lovely  blue  sash.  I  wanted  the  violet  silk ;  but 
there  isn't  time  to  make  it  over,  so  I  must  be  contented 
with  my  old  tarlatan." 

"  It  will  look  nicely  over  my  new  muslin  skirt,  and 
the  sash  will  set  it  off  beautifully.  I  wish  I  hadn't 
smashed  my  coral  bracelet,  for  you  might  have  had 
it,"  said  Jo,  who  loved  to  give  and  lend,  but  whose 
possessions  were  usually  too  dilapidated  to  be  of  much 
use. 

"  There  is  a  lovely  old-fashioned  pearl  set  in  the 
treasure-box ;  but  mother  said  real  flowers  were  the 
prettiest  ornament  for  a  young  girl,  and  Laurie  prom- 
ised to  send  me  all  I  want,"  replied  Meg.  "Now, 
let  me  see;  there's  my  new  gray  walking-suit, — just 
curl  up  the  feather  in  my  hat,  Beth,  —  then  my  poplin, 
for  Sunday,  and  the  small  party,  —  it  looks  heavy  for 
spring,  don't  W.}  the  violet  silk  would  be  so  nice  ;  oh, 
dear ! " 

"  Never  mind ;  you've  got  the  tarlatan  for  the  big 
party,  and  you  always  look  like  an  angel  in  white," 
said  Amy,  brooding  over  the  little  store  of  finery  in 
which  her  soul  delighted. 

"It  isn't  low-necked,  and  it  don't  sweep  enough, 
but  it  will  have  to  do.     My  blue  house-dress  looks  so 


126  "  Little  Women. 

well,  turned  and  freshly  trimmed,  that  I  feel  as  if  I'd 
got  a  new  one.  My  silk  sacque  isn't  a  bit  the  fashion, 
and  my  bonnet  don't  look  like  Sallie's ;  I  didn't  like 
to  say  anything,  but  I  was  dreadfully  disappointed  in 
my  umbrella.  I  told  mother  black,  with  a  white 
handle,  but  she  forgot,  and  bought  a  green  one,  with 
an  ugly  yellowish  handle.  It's  strong  and  neat,  so  I 
ought  not  to  complain,  but  I  know  I  shall  feel  ashamed 
of  it  beside  Annie's  silk  one,  wuth  a  gold  top,"  sighed 
Meg,  surveying  the  little  umbrella^^ith  gi'eat  disfavor. 

"Change  it,"  advised  Jo. 

"  I  won't  be  so  silly,  or  hurt  Marmee's  feelings, 
when  she  took  so  much  pains  to  get  my  things.  It's 
a  nonsensical  notion  of  mine,  and  I'm  not  going  to 
give  up  to  it.  My  silk  stockings  and  two  pairs  of 
spandy  gloves  are  my  comfort.  You  are  a  dear,  to 
lend  me  yours,  Jo  ;  I  feel  so  rich,  and  sort  of  elegant, 
with  two  new  pairs,  and  the  old  ones  cleaned  up  for 
common ; "  and  Meg  took  a  refreshing  peep  at  her 
glove-box. 

"Annie  Moffat  has  blue  and  pink  bows  on  her 
night-caps ;  would  you  put  some  on  mine } "  she 
asked,  as  Beth  brought  up  a  pile*  of  snowy  muslins, 
fresh  from  Hannah's  hands. 

"No,  I  wouldn't;  for  the  smart,  caps  won't  match 
the  plain  gowns,  without  any  trimming  on  them. 
Poor  folks  shouldn't  rig,"  said  Jo,  decidedly. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  be  happy  enough  to  have 
real  lace  on  my  clothes,  and  bows  on  my  caps  t "  said 
Meg,  impatiently. 

"  You  said  the  otlier  day  that  you'd  be  perfectly  happy 


Meg  goes  to  Vanity  Fair,  127 

if  you   could  only  go  to  Annie  Moffat's,"   observed 
Beth,  in  her  quiet  way. 

"  So  I  did  !  Well,  I  am  happy,  and  I  won't  fret ; 
but  it  does  seem  as  if  the  more  one  gets  the  more  one 
wants,  don't  it?  There,  now,  the  trays  are  ready, 
and  everything  in  but  my  ball-dress,  which  I  shall 
leave  for  mother,"  said  Meg,  cheering  up,  as  she 
glanced  from  the  half-filled  trunk  to  the  many-times 
pressed  and  mended  white  tarlatan,  which  she  called 
her  "  ball-dress,"  with  an  important  air. 

The  next  day  was  fine,  and  Meg  departed,  in  style, 
for  a  fortnight  of  novelty  and  pleasure.  Mrs.  March 
had  consented  to  the  visit  rather  reluctantly,  fearing 
that  Margaret  would  come  back  more  discontented 
than  she  went.  But  she  had  begged  so  hard,  and 
Sallie  had  promised  to  take  good  care  of  her,  and  a 
little  pleasure  seemed  so  delightful  after  a  winter  of 
hard  work,  that  the  mother  yielded,  and  the  daughter 
went  to  take  her  first  taste  of  fashionable  life. 

The  Moftats  were  very  fashionable,  and  simple  Meg 
was  rather  daunted,  at  first j  by  the  splendor  of  the 
house,  and  the  elegance  of  its  occupants.  But  they 
were  kindly  people,  in  spite  of  the  frivolous  life  they 
led,  and  soon  put  their  guest  at  her  ease.  Perhaps 
Meg  felt,  without  undenstanding  why,  that  they  were 
not  particularly  cultivated  or  intelligent  people,  and 
that  all  their  gilding  could  not  quite  conceal  the  or- 
dinary material  of  which  they  were  made.  It  certainly 
was  agreeable  to  fare  sumptuousl}^,  drive  in  a  fine  car- 
riage, wear  her  best  frock  every  day,  and  do  nothing 
but  enjoy  herself.  It  suited  her  exactly  ;  and  soon  siie 
began  to  imitate  the  manners   and    conversation   of 


128  Little   Women. 

those  about  her ;  to  put  on  little  airs  and  graces,  use 
French  phrases,  crimp  her  hair,  take  in -her  dresses, 
and  talk  about  the  fashions,  as  well  as  she  could.  The 
more  she  saw  of  Annie  Moffat's  pretty  things,  the 
more  she  envied  her,  and  sighed  to  be  rich.  Home 
now  looked  bare  and  dismal  as  she  thought  of  it,  work 
grew  harder  than  ever,  and  she  felt  that  she  was  a  very 
destitute  and  much  injured  girl,  in  spite  of  the  new 
gloves  and  silk  stockings. 

She  had  not  much  time  for  repining,  however,  for 
the  three  young  girls  were  busily  employed  in  "  having 
a  good  time."  They  shopped,  walked,  rode,  and 
called  all  day ;  went  to  theatres  and  operas,  or  frol- 
icked at  home  in  the  evening ;  for  Annie  had  many 
friends,  and  knew  how  to  entertain  them.  Her  older 
sisters  were  very  fine  young  ladies,  and  one  was  en- 
gaged, which  was  extremely  interesting  and  roman- 
tic, Meg  thought.  Mr.  Moffat  was  a  fat,  jolly  old 
gentleman,  who  knew  her  father ;  and  Mrs.  Moffat,  a 
fat,  jolly  old  lady,  who  took  as  great  a  fancy  to  Meg 
as  her  daughter  had  done.  Every  one  petted  her ;  and 
"Daisy,"  as  they  called  her,  was  in  a  fair  way  to  have 
her  head  turned. 

When  the  evening  for  the  "  small  party"  came,  she 
found  that  the  poplin  wouldn't  do  at  all,  for  the  other 
girls  were  putting  on  thin  dresses,  and  making  them- 
selves very  fine  indeed ;  so  out  came  the  tarleton, 
looking  older,  limper,  and  shabbier  than  ever,  beside 
Sallie's  crisp  new  on,e.  Meg  saw  the  girls  glance  at 
it,  and  then  at  one  another,  and  her  cheeks  began  to 
burn  ;  for,  with  all  her  gentleness,  she  was  very  proud. 
No  one  said  a  word  about  it,  but  Sallie  offered  to  do 


Meg  goes  to  Vanity  Fair,  129 

her  hair,  and  Annie  to  tie  her  sash,  and  Belle,  the 
engaged  sister,  praised  her  white  arms ;  but,  in  their 
kindness,  Meg  saw  only  pity  for  her  poverty,  and  her 
heart  felt  very  heavy  as  she  stood  by  herself,  while 
the  others  laughed  and  chattered,  prinked,  and  flew 
about  like  gauzy  butterflies.  The  hard,  bitter  feeling 
was  getting  pretty  bad,  when  the  maid  brought  in  a 
box  of  flowers.  Before  she  could  speak,  Annie  had 
the  cover  oft',  and  all  were  exclaiming  at  the  lovely 
roses,  heath,  and  ferns  within. 

"  It's  for  Belle,  of  course  ;  George  always  sends  her 
some,  but  these  are  altogether  ravishing,"  cried  Annie, 
with  a  great  sniff'. 

"  They  are  for  Miss  March,"  the  man  said.  "  And 
here's  a  note,"  put  in  the  maid,  holding  it  to  Meg. 

"What  fun!  Who  are  they  are  from?  Didn't 
know  you  had  a  lover,"  cried  the  girls,  fluttering 
about  Meg  in  a  high  state  of  curiosity  and  sur- 
prise. 

"The  note  is  from  mother,  and  the  flowers  from 
Laurie,"  said  Meg,  simply,  yet  much  gratified  that  he 
had  not  forgotten  her. 

"  Oh,  indeed ! "  said  Annie,  with  a  funny  look,  as 
Meg  slipped  the  note  into  her  pocket,  as  a  sort  of  tal- 
isman against  envy,  vanity,  and  false  pride ;  for  the 
few  loving  words  had  done  her  good,  and  the  flowers 
cheered  her  up  by  their  beauty. 

Feeling  almost  happy  again,  she  laid  by  a  few  ferns 
and  roses  for  herself,  and  quickly  made  up  the  rest 
in  dainty  bouquets  for  the  breasts,  hair,  or  skirts  of 
her  friends,  offering  them  so  prettily,  that  Clara,  the 
elder  sister,  told  her  she  was  "  the  sweetest  little  thing 
9 


130  Little  Women, 

she  ever  saw  ; "  and  they  looked  quite  charmed  with 
her  small  attention.  Somehow  the  kind  act  finished 
her  despondency ;  and,  when  all  the  rest  went  to 
show  themselves  to  Mrs.  Moffat,  she  saw  a  happy, 
bright-eyed  face  in  the  mirror,  as  she  laid  her  ferns 
against  her  rippling  hair,  and  fastened  the  roses  in 
the  di'ess  that  didn't  strike  her  as  so  very  shabby  now. 

She  enjoyed  herself  very  much  that  evening,  for  she 
danced  to  her  heart's  content ;  every  one  was  very 
kind,  and  she  had  three  compliments.  Annie  made 
her  sing,  and  some  one  said  she  had  a  remarkably  fine 
voice  ;  Major  Lincoln  asked  who  "the  fresh  little  girl, 
with  the  beautiful  eyes,  v^as ; "  and  Mr.  Moftat  in- 
sisted on  dancing  with  her,  because  she  "  didn't 
dawdle,  but  had  some  spring  in  her,"  as  he  grace- 
fully expressed  it.  So,  altogether,  she  had  a  very  nice 
time,  till  she  overheard  a  bit  of  a  conversation,  which 
disturbed  her  extremely.  She  was  sitting  just  inside 
the  consei-vatory,  waiting  for  her  partner  to  bring  her 
an  ice,  when  she  heard  a  voice  ask,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  flowery  wall,  — 

"How  old  is  he.?" 

"  Sixteen  or  seventeen,  I  should  say,"  replied  an- 
other voice. 

"  It  would  be  a  grand  thing  for  one  of  those  girls, 
wouldn't  \\.}  Sallie  says  they  are  very  intimate  now, 
and  the  old  man  quite  dotes  on  them." 

"Mrs.  M.  has  laid  her  plans,  I  dare  say,  and  will 
play  her  cards  well,  early  as  it  is.  The  girl  evidently 
doesn't  think  of  it  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Moffat. 

"  She  told  that  fib  about  her  mamma,  as  if  she  did 
know,  and  colored  up  when  the  flowers  came,  quite 


Meg  goes  to  Vanity  Fair,  131 

prettily.  Poor  thing  !  she'd  be  so  nice  if  she  was  only 
got  up  in  style.  Do  you  think  she'd  be  offended  if  we 
offered  to  lend  her  a  dress  for  Thursday?"  asked 
another  voice. 

"  She's  proud,  but  I  don't  believe  she'd  mind,  for 
that  dowdy  tarlatan  is  all  she  has  got.  She  may  tear 
it  to-night,  and  that  will  be  a  good  excuse  for  offering 
a  decent  one." 

"  We'll  see ;  I  shall  ask  that  Laurence,  as  a  com- 
pliment to  her,  and  we'll  have  fun  about  it  afterward." 

Here  Meg's  partner  appeared,  to  find  her  looking 
much  flushed,  and  rather  agitated.  She  was  proud, 
and  her  pride  was  useful  just  then,  for  it  helped  hei 
hide  her  mortification,  anger,  and  disgust,  at  what 
she  had  just  heard ;  for,  innocent  and  unsuspicious  as 
she  was,  she  could  not  help  understanding  the  gossip 
of  her  friends.  She  tried  to  forget  it,  but  could  not, 
and  kept  repeating  to  herself,  "  Mrs.  M.  has  her 
plans,"  "that  fib  about  her  mamma,"  and  "dowdy 
tarlatan,"  till  she  was  ready  to  cry,  and  rush  home 
to  tell  her  troubles,  and  ask  for  advice.  As  that  was 
impossible,  she  did  her  best  to  seem  gay  ;  and,  being 
rather  excited,  she  succeeded  so  well,  that  no  one 
dreamed  what  an  effort  she  was  making.  vShe  was 
very  glad  when  it  was  all  over,  and  she  was  quiet  in 
her  bed,  where  she  could  think  and  wonder  and  fume 
till  her  head  ached,  and  her  hot  cheeks  were  cooled 
by  a  few  natural  tears.  Those  foolish,  yet  well- 
meant  words,  had  opened  a  new  world  to  Meg,  and 
much  disturbed  the  peace  of  the  old  one,  in  which, 
till  now,  she  had  lived  as  happily  as  a  child.  Her 
innocent  friendship  with    Laurie   was    spoilt   by  the 


132  Little  Women, 

silly  speeches  she  had  overheard ;  her  faith  in  her 
mother  was  a  little  shaken  by  the  worldly  plans 
attributed  to  her  by  Mrs.  Moffat,  who  judged  others 
by  herself;  and  the  sensible  resolution  to  be  con- 
tented with  the  simple  wardrobe  which  suited  *i  poor 
man's  daughter,  was  weakened  by  the  unnecessary 
pit}^  of  girls,  who  thought  a  shabby  dress  one  of  the 
greatest  calamities  under  heaven. 

Poor  Meg  had  a  restless  night,  and  got  up  heavy- 
eyed,  unhappy,  half  resentful  toward  her  friends, 
and  half  ashamed  of  herself  for  not  speaking  out 
frankly,  and  setting  everything  right.  Everybody 
dawdled  that  morning,  and  it  was  noon  before  the 
girls  found  energy  enough  even  to  take  up  their  wors- 
ted work.  Something  in  the  manner  of  her  friends 
struck  Meg  at  once  ;  they  treated  her  with  more  re- 
spect, she  thought ;  took  quite  a  tender  interest  in  what 
she  said,  and  looked  at  her  with  eyes  that  plainly  be- 
trayed curiosity.  All  this  surprised  and  flattered  her, 
though  she  did  not  understand  it  till  Miss  Belle  looked 
up  from  her  writing,  and  said,  with  a  sentimental 
air,  — 

"  Daisy,  dear,  I've  sent  an  invitation  to  your  friend, 
Mr.  Laurence,  for  Thursday.  We  should  like  to 
know  him,  and  it's  only  a  proper  compliment  to  you.'* 

Meg  colored,  but  a  mischievous  fancy  to  tease  the 
girls  made  her  reply,  demurely,  — 

*'  You  are  very  kind,  but  I'm  afraid  he  won't  come.'* 

"Why  not,  cherie.?"  asked  Miss  Belle. 

"  He's  too  old." 

"My  child,  what  do  you  mean.^^  What  is  his  age, 
I  beg  to  know  !  "   cried  Miss  Clara. 


Meg  goes  to   Vanity  Fair,  133 

''  Nearly  seventy,  I  believe,"  answered  Meg,  count- 
ing stitches,  to  hide  the  merriment  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  sly  creature  !  of  course,  we  meant  the  young 
man,"  exclaimed  Miss  Belle,  laughing. 

"  There  isn't  any  ;  Laurie  is  only  a  little  boy,"  and 
Meg  laughed  also  at  the  queer  look  which  the  sisters 
exchanged,  as  she  thus  described  her  supposed  lover. 

"  Aboijt  your  age,"  Nan  said. 

"Nearer  my  sister  Jo's  ;  /am  seventeen  in  August," 
returned  Meg,  tossing  her  head. 

"It's  very  nice  of  him  to  send  you  flowers,  isn't  it?" 
said  Annie,  looking  wise  about  nothing. 

"Yes,  he  often  does,  to  all  of  us ;  for  their  house  is 
full,  and  we  are  so  fond  of  them.  My  mother  and 
old  Mr.  Laurence  are  friends,  you  know,  so  it  is  quite 
natural  that  we  children  should  play  together ; "  and 
Meg  hoped  they  would  say  no  more. 

"It's  evident  Daisy  isn't  out  yet,"  said  Miss  Clara  to 
Belle,  with  a  nod. 

"  Qiiite  a  pastoral  state  of  innocence  all  round," 
returned  Miss  Belle,  with  a  shrug. 

"  I'm  going  out  to  get  some  little  matters  for  my 
girls  ;  can  I  do  anything  for  you, young  ladies?"  asked 
Mrs.  Moffat,  lumbering  in,  like  an  elephant,  in  silk  and 
lace. 

"  No,  thank  you,  ma'am,"  replied  Sallie  ;  "  I've  got 
my  new  pink  silk  for  Thursday,  and  don't  want  a 
thing." 

"Nor  I  — "  began  Meg,  but  stopped,  because  it 
occurred  to  her  that  she  did  want  several  things,  and 
could  not  have  them. 

"What  shall  vou  wear?"  asked  Sallie. 


134  Little  Women. 

"My  old  white  one  again,  if  I  can  mend  it  fit  to  be 
seen  ;  it  got  sadly  torn  last  night,"  said  Meg,  trying  to 
speak  quite  easily,  but  feeling  very  uncomfortable. 

"Why  don't  you  send  home  for  another?"  said 
Sallie,  who  was  not  an  observing  young  lady. 

"  I  haven't  got  any  other."  It  cost  Meg  an  effort  to 
say  that,  but  Sallie  did  not  see  it,  and  exclaimed,  in 
amiable  surprise,  — 

"Only  that?  how  funny — ."  She  did  not  finish 
her  speech,  for  Belle  shook  her  head  at  her,  and  broke 
in,  saying,  kindly,  — 

"  Not  at  all ;  where  is  the  use  of  having  a  lot  of 
dresses  when  she  isn't  out?  There's  no  need  of  send- 
ing home,  Daisy,  even  if  you  had  a  dozen,  for  I've  got 
a  sweet  blue  silk  laid  away,  which  I've  outgrown,  and 
you  shall  wear  it,  to  please  me  ;  won't  you,  dear?" 

"You  are  very  kind,  but  I  don't  mind  my  old  dress, 
if  you  don't ;  it  does  well  enough  for  a  little  girl  like 
me,"  said  Meg. 

"  Now  do  let  me  please  myself  by  dressing  you  up 
in  style.  I  admire  to  do  it,  and  you'd  be  a  regular 
little  beauty,  with  a  touch  here  and  there.  I  shan't 
let  any  one  see  you  till  you  are  done,  and  then  we'll 
burst  upon  them  like  Cinderella  and  her  godmother, 
going  to  the  ball,"  said  Belle,  in  her  persuasive  tone. 

Meg  couldn't  refuse  the  offer  so  kindly  made,  for 
a  desire  to  see  if  she  would  be  "a  little  beauty"  after 
touching  up  caused  her  to  accept,  and  forget  all  her 
former  uncomfortable  feelings  towards  the  Moffats. 

On  the  Thursday  evening.  Belle  shut  herself  up 
with  her  maid  ;  and,  between  them,  they  turned  Meg 
into  a  fine  lady.     They  crimped  and  curled  her  hair, 


For  several  minutes,   she  stood  like  the  jackdaw  in   the  fable, 
enjoying  her  borrowed  plumes. —  Page  135. 


Meg  goes  to  Vanity  Fair,  135 

they  polished  her  neck  and  arms  with  some  fragrant 
powder,  touched  her  lips  with  coralline  salve,  to  make 
them  redder,  and  Hortense  would  have  added  "  a 
soupcon  of  rouge,"  if  Meg  had  not  rebelled.  They 
laced  her  into  a  sky-blue  dress,  which  w^as  so  tight 
she  could  hardly  breathe,  and  so  low  in  the  neck  that 
modest  Meg  blushed  at  herself  in  the  mirror.  A  set 
of  silver  filagree  was  added,  bracelets,  necklace, 
brooch,  and  even  ear-rings,  for  Hortense  tied  them  on, 
with  a  bit  of  pink  siik,  which  did  not  show.  A  clus- 
ter of  tea  rose-buds  at  the  bosom,  and  a  ruche^  recon- 
ciled Meg  to  the  display  of  her  pretty  white  shoulders, 
and  a  pair  of  high-heeled  blue  silk  boots  satisfied  the 
last  wish  of  her  heart.  A  laced  handkerchief,  a 
plumy  fan,  and  a  bouquet  in  a  silver  holder,  finished 
her  off';  and  Miss  Belle  surveyed  her  with  the  satis- 
faction of  a  little  girl  with  a  newly  dressed  doll. 

"  Mademoiselle  is  charmante,  tres  jolie,  is  she  not.?" 
cried  Hortense,  clasping  her  hands  in  an  affected  rap- 
ture. 

"Come  and  show  yourself,"  said  Miss  Belle,  leading 
the  way  to  the  room  where  the  others  were  waiting. 

As  Meg  went  rustling  after,  with  her  long  skirts 
trailing,  her  ear-rings  tinkling,  her  curls  waving,  and 
her  heart  beating,  she  felt  as  if  her  "fun"  had  really 
begun  at  last,  for  the  mirror  had  plainly  told  her  that 
she  was  "  a  little  beauty."  Her  friends  repeated  the 
pleasing  phrase  enthusiastically ;  and,  for  several  min- 
utes, she  stood,  like  the  jackdaw  in  the  fable,  enjoying 
her  borrowed  plumes,  while  the  rest  chattered  like  a 
party  of  magpies. 

"  While  I  dress,  do  you  drill  her.  Nan,  in  the  man- 


136  Little  Women, 

agement  of  her  skirt,  and  those  French  heels,  or  she 
will  trip  herself  up.  Put  your  silver  butterfly  in  the 
middle  of  that  white  barbe,  and  catch  up  that  long 
curl  on  the  left  side  of  her  head,  Clara,  and  don't  any 
of  you  disturb  the  charming  work  of  my  hands,"  said 
Belle,  as  she  hurried  away,  looking  well  pleased  with 
her  success. 

"  I'm  afraid  to  go  down,  I  feel  so  queer  and  stiff, 
and  half-dressed,"  said  Meg  to  Sallie,  as  the  bell  rang, 
and  Mrs.  Moffat  sent  to  ask  the  young  ladies  to  appear 
at  once. 

"You  don't  look  a  bit  like  yourself,  but  you  are 
very  nice.  I'm  nowhere  beside  you,  for  Belle  has 
heaps  of  taste,  and  you're  quite  French,  I  assure  you. 
Let  your  flowers  hang ;  don't  be  so  careful  of  them, 
and  be  sure  you  don't  trip,"  returned  Sallie,  trying 
not  to  care  that  Meg  was  prettier  than  herself. 

Keeping  that  warning  carefully  in  mind,  Margaret 
got  safely  down  stairs,  and  sailed  into  the  drawing- 
rooms,  where  the  Moffats  and  a  few  early  guests  were 
assembled.  She  very  soon  discovered  that  there  is  a 
charm  about  fine  clothes  which  attracts  a  certain  class 
of  people,  and  secures  their  respect.  Several  young 
ladies,  w^ho  had  taken  no  notice  of  her  before,  ^vere 
very  affectionate  all  of  a  sudden  ;  several  young  gen- 
tlemen, who  had  only  stared  at  her  at  the  other  party, 
now  not  only  stared,  but  asked  to  be  introduced,  and 
said  all  manner  of  foolish,  but  ag^reeable  thino^s  to  her  ; 
and  several  old  ladies,  who  sat  on  sofas,  and  criticised 
the  rest  of  the  party,  inquired  who  she  was,  with  an 
air  of  interest.  She  heard  Mrs.  Moffat  reply  to  one 
of  thenij  — 


Meg  goes  to   Vanity  Fair,  137 

"Daisy  March  —  father  a  colonel  in  the  army  —  one 
of  our  first  families,  but  reverses  of  fortune,  you  know  ; 
intimate  friends  of  the  Laurences ;  sweet  creature,  I 
assure  you  ;  my  Ned  is  quite  wild  about  her." 

•'Dear  me  !  "  said  the  old  lady,  putting  up  her  glass 
for  another  observation  of  Meg,  who  tried  to  look  as 
if  she  had  not  heard,  and  been  rather  shocked  at  Mrs. 
Moftat's  fibs. 

The  "queer  feeling"  did  not  pass  away,  but  she 
imagined  herself  acting  the  new  part  of  fine  lady,  and 
so  got  on  pretty  well,  though  the  tight  dress  gave  her 
a  side-ache,  the  train  kept  getting  under  her  feet,  and 
she  was  in  constant  fear  lest  her  ear-rings  should  fly 
off',  and  get  lost  or  broken.  She  was  flirting  her  fan, 
and  laughing  at  the  feeble  jokes  of  a  young  gentleman 
who  tried  to  be  witty,  when  she  suddenly  stopped 
laughing,  and  looked  confused  ;  for,  just  opposite,  she 
saw  Laurie.  He  was  staring  at  her  with  undisguised 
surprise,  and  disapproval  also,  she  thought ;  for, 
though  he  bowed  and  smiled,  yet  something  in  his 
honest  eyes  made  her  blush,  and  wish  she  had  her  old 
dress  on.  To  complete  her  confusion,  she  saw  Belle 
nudge  Annie,  and  both  glance  from  her  to  Laurie, 
who,  she  was  happy  to  see,  looked  unusually  boyish 
and  shy.  Ii 

"  Silly  creatures,  to  put  such  thoughts  into  my  head  ! 
I  won't  care  for  it,  or  let  it  change  me  a  bit,"  thought 
Meg,  and  rustled  across  the  room  to  shake  hands  with 
her  friend. 

"I'm  glad  you  came,  for  I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't," 
she  said,  with  her  most  grown-up  air. 

"Jo   wanted    me   to   come,    and   tell   her  how  you 


138  Little  Women. 

looked,  so  I  did  ; "  answered  Laurie,  without  turning 
his  eyes  upon  her,  though  he  half  smiled  at  her  mater- 
nal tone. 

"What  shall  you  tell  her?"  asked  Meg,  full  of 
curiosity  to  know  his  opinion  of  her,  yet  feeling  ill  at 
ease  with  him,  for  the  first  time. 

"  I  shall  say  I  didn't  know  you  ;  for  you  look  so 
grown-up,  and  unlike  yourself,  I'm  quite  afraid  of 
you,"  he  said,  fumbling  at  his  glove-button. 

"  How  absurd  of  you  !  the  girls  dressed  me  up  for 
fun,  and  I  rather  like  it.  Wouldn't  Jo  stare  if  she  saw 
me  ?  "  said  Meg,  bent  on  making  him  say  whether  he 
thought  her  improved  or  not. 

*'  Yes,  I  think  she  would,"  returned  Laurie,  gravely. 

"Don't  you  like  me  so?"  asked  Meg. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  was  the  blunt  reply. 

"  Why  not.'"'  in  an  anxious  tone. 

He  glanced  at  her  frizzled  head,  bare  shoulders, 
and  fantastically  trimmed  dress,  with  an  expression 
that  abashed  her  more  than  his  answer,  which  had 
not  a  particle  of  his  usual  politeness  about  it. 

"  I  don't  like  fuss  and  feathers." 

That  was  altogether  too  much  from  a  lad  younger 
than  herself;  and  Meg  walked  away,  saying,  petu- 
lantly^ — 

"You  are  the  rudest  boy  I  ever  saw." 

Feeling  very  much  ruffled,  she  went  and  stood  at  a 
quiet  window,  to  cool  her  cheeks,  for  the  tight  dress 
gave  her  an  uncomfortably  brilliant  color.  As  she 
stood  there.  Major  Lincoln  passed  by ;  and,  a  minute 
after,  she  heard  him  saying  to  his  mother, — 

"  They   are    making   a    fool    of  that   little   girl ;    I 


Meg  goes  to  Vanity  Fair,  139 

waiited  you  to  see  her,  but  they  have  spoilt  her  en- 
tirely ;  she's  nothing  but  a  doll,  to-night." 

"Oh,  dear !"  sighed  Meg;  "  I  wish  I'd  been  sen- 
sible, and  worn  my  own  things  ;  then  I  should  not 
have  disgusted  other  people,  or  felt  so  uncomfortable 
and  ashamed  myself." 

She  leaned  her  forehead  on  the  cool  pane,  and 
stood  half  hidden  by  the  curtains,  never  minding  that 
her  favorite  waltz  had  begun,  till  some  one  touched 
her  ;  and,  turning,  she  saw  Laurie  looking  penitent,  as 
he  said,  with  his  very  best  bow,  and  his  hand  out,  — 

"Please  forgive  my  rudeness,  and  come  and  dance 
with  me." 

"  I'm  afraid  it  will  be  too  disagreeable  to  you," 
said  Meg,  trying  to  look  offended,  and  failing  entirely. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it;  I'm  dying  to  do  it.  Come,  I'll 
be  good ;  I  don't  like  your  gown,  but  I  do  think  you 
are — just  splendid  ;"  and  he  waved  his  hands,  as  if 
words  failed  to  express  his  admiration. 

Meg  smiledj  and  relented,  and  whispered,  as  they 
stood  waiting  to  catch  the  time. 

"  Take  care  my  skirt  don't  trip  you  up  ;  it's  the 
plague  of  my  life,  and  I  was  a  goose  to  wear  it." 

"  Pin  it  round  your  neck,  and  then  it  will  be  useful," 
said  Laurie,  looking  down  at  the  little  blue  boots, 
which  he  evidently  approved  of. 

Away  they  went,  fleetly  and  gracefully  ;  for,  having 
practised  at  home,  they  were  well  matched,  and  the 
blithe  young  couple  were  a  pleasant  sight  to  see,  as 
they  twirled  merrily  round  and  round,  feeling  more 
friendly  than  ever  after  their  small  tiff. 

"  Laurie,  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor  ;  will  you?" 


140  Little  Women, 

said  Meg,  as  he  stood  fanning  her,  when  her  breath 
gave  out,  which  it  did,  very  soon,  though  she  would 
not  own  why. 

"  Won't  I !  "  said  Laurie,  with  alacrity. 

"  Please  don't  tell  them  at  home  about  my  dress 
to-night.  They  won't  understand  the  joke,  and  it  will 
v/orry  mother." 

"  Then  why  did  you  do  it?"  said  Laurie's  eyes,  so 
plainly,  that  Meg  hastily  added,  — 

"  I  shall  tell  them,  myself,  all  about  it,  and  '  'fess'  to 
mother  how  silly  I've  been.  But  I'd  rather  do  it 
myself;  so  you'll  not  tell,  will  you?" 

"  I  give  you  my  word  I  won't ;  only  what  shall  I  say 
when  they  ask  me  ?  " 

"Just  say  I  looked  nice,  and  was  having  a  good 
time." 

"  I'll  say  the  first,  with  all  my  heart ;  but  how  about 
the  other?  You  don't  look  as  if  you  were  having  a 
good  time  ;  are  you  }  "  and  Laurie  looked  at  her  with 
an  expression  which  made  her  answer,  in  a  whisper, — 

"  No ;  not  just  now.  Don't  think  I'm  horrid ;  I 
only  wanted  a  little  fun,  but  this  sort  don't  pay,  I  find, 
and  I'm  getting  tired  of  it." 

"Here  comes  Ned  Moffat;  what  does  he  want?" 
said  Laurie,  knitting  his  black  brows,  as  if  he  did  not 
regard  his  young  host  in  the  light  of  a  pleasant  addi- 
tion to  the  party. 

"  He  put  his  name  down  for  three  dances,  and  I 
suppose  he's  coming  for  them  ;  what  a  bore  !  "  said 
Meg,  assuming  a  languid  air,  which  amused  Laurie 
immensely. 

He   did   not  speak   to   her  again   till     supper-time, 


Meg  goes  to  Vanity  Fair,  141 

when  he  saw  her  drinking  champagne  with  Ned,  and 
his  friend  Fisher,  who  were  behaving  "  like  a  pair  of 
fools,"  as  Laurie  said  to  himself,  for  he  felt  a  brotherly 
sort  of  right  to  watch  over  the  Marches,  and  fight 
their  battles,  whenever  a  defender  was  needed. 

"You'll  have  a  splitting  headache  to-morrow,  if  you 
drink  much  of  that.  I  wouldn't,  Meg;  your  mother 
don't  like  it,  you  know,"  he  whispered,  leaning  over 
her  chair,  as  Ned  turned  to  refill  her  glass,  and  Fisher 
stooped  to  pick  up  her  fan. 

"  I'm  not  Meg,  to-night ;  I'm  '  a  doll,'  who  does  all 
sorts  of  crazy  things.  To-morrow  I  shall  put  away 
my  '  fuss  and  feathers,'  and  be  desperately  good  again," 
she  answered,  with  an  affected  little  laugh. 

"  Wish  to-morrow  was  here,  then,"  muttered  Laurie, 
walking  off,  ill-pleased  at  the  change  he  saw  in  her. 

Meg  danced  and  flirted,  chattered  and  giggled,  as 
the  other  girls  did ;  after  supper  she  undertook  the 
German,  and  blundered  through  it,  nearly  upsetting 
her  partner  with  her  long  skirt,  and  romping  in  a  way 
that  scandalized  Laurie,  who  looked  on  and  meditated 
a  lecture.  But  he  got  no  chance  to  deliver  it,  for  Meg 
kept  away  from  him  till  he  came  to  say  good-night. 

"Remember!"  she  said,  trying  to  smile,  for  the 
splitting  headache  had  already  begun. 

"  Silence  a  la  mort,"  replied  Laurie,  with  a  melo- 
dramatic flourish,  as  he  went  away. 

This  little  bit  of  by-play  excited  Annie's  curiosity  ; 
but  Meg  was  too  tired  for  gossip,  and  went  to  bed, 
feeling  as  if  she  had  been  to  a  masquerade,  and  hadn't 
enjoyed  herself  as  much  as  she  expected.  She  was 
sick  all  the  next  day,  and  on   Saturday  went  home, 


142  Little  Women, 

quite  used  up  with  her  fortnight's  fun,  and  feeling  that 
she  had  sat  in  the  lap  of  luxuiy  long  enough. 

"  It  does  seem  pleasant  to  be  quiet,  and  not  have 
company  manners  on  all  the  time.  Home  is  a  nice 
place,  though  it  isn't  splendid,"  said  Meg,  looking 
about  her  with  a  restful  expression,  as  she  sat  with 
her  mother  and  Jo  on  the  Sunday  evening. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  dear,  for  I  was  afraid 
home  would  seem  dull  and  poor  to  you,  after  your 
fine  quarters,"  replied  her  mother,  who  had  given  her 
many  anxious  looks  that  day ;  for  motherly  eyes  are 
quick  to  see  any  change  in  children's  faces. 

Meg  had  told  her  adventures  gayly,  and  said  over 
and  over  what  a  charming  time  she  had  had ;  but 
something  still  seemed  to  weigh  upon  her  spirits,  and, 
when  the  younger  girls  were  gone  to  bed,  she  sat 
thoughtfully  staring  at  the  fire,  saying  little,  and  looking 
worried.  As  the  clock  struck  nine,  and  Jo  proposed 
bed,  Meg  suddenly  left  her  chair,  and,  taking  Beth's 
stool,  leaned  her  elbows  on  her  mother's  knee,  saying, 
bravely,  — 

"Marmee,  I  want  to  "fess.'" 

"  I  thought  so  ;  what  is  it,  dear.?" 

"  Shall  I  go  away?"  asked  Jo,  discreetly. 

"  Of  course  not ;  don't  I  always  tell  you  everything? 
I  was  ashamed  to  speak  of  it  before  the  children,  but 
I  want  you  to  know  all  the  dreadful  things  I  did  at 
the  Moffats." 

"  We  are  prepared,"  said  Mrs.  March,  smiling,  but 
looking  a  little  anxious. 

"  I  told  you  they  rigged  me  up,  but  I  didn't  tell  you 
tliat  they  powdered,  and  squeezed,  and  frizzled,  and 


Meg  goes  to   Vanity  Fair,  143 

made  me  look  like  a  fashion-plate.  Laurie  thought  I 
wasn't  proper ;  I  know  he  did,  though  he  didn't  say- 
so,  and  one  man  called  me  '  a  doll.'  I  knew  it  was 
silly,  but  they  flattered  me,  and  said  I  was  a  beauty, 
and  quantities  of  nonsense,  so  I  let  them  make  a  fool 
of  me." 

"Is  that  all.?"  asked  Jo,  as  Mrs  March  looked 
silently  at  the  downcast  face  of  her  pretty  daughter, 
and  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  blame  her  little 
follies. 

"  No  ;  I  drank  champagne,  and  romped,  and  tried 
to  flirt,  and  was,  altogether,  abominable,"  said  Meg, 
self-reproachfully. 

"  There  is  something  more,  I  think ; "  and  Mrs. 
March  smoothed  the  soft  cheek,  which  suddenly  grew 
rosy,  as  Meg  answered,  slowly,  — 

"  Yes ;  it's  very  silly,  but  I  want  to  tell  it,  because  I 
hate  to  have  people  say  and  think  such  things  about 
us  and  Laurie." 

Then  she  told  the  various  bits  of  gossip  she  had 
heard  at  the  MofFats ;  and,  as  she  spoke,  Jo  saw  her 
mother  fold  her  lips  tightly,  as  if  ill  pleased  that  such 
ideas  should  be  put  into  Meg's  innocent  mind. 

"  Well,  if  that  isn't  the  greatest  rubbish  I  ever 
heard,"  cried  Jo,  indignantly.  "Why  didn't  you  pop 
out  and  tell  them  so,  on  the  spot  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't,  it  was  so  embarrassing  for  me.  I 
couldn't  help  hearing,  at  :first,  and  then  I  was  so  angry 
and  ashamed,  I  didn't  remember  that  I  ought  to  go 
away." 

"Just  wait  till  /see  Annie  Moffat,  and  I'll  show  you 
how  to  settle  such  ridiculous  stuff*.    The  idea  of  having 


144  Little  Women, 

'  plans,'  and  being  kind  to  Laurie,  because  he's  rich, 
and  may  marry  us  by  and  by  !  Won't  he  shout,  when 
I  tell  him  what  those  silly  things  say  about  us  poor 
children?"  and  Jo  laughed,  as  if,  on  second  thoughts, 
the  thing  struck  her  as  a  good  joke. 

"  If  you  tell  Laurie,  I'll  never  forgive  you !  She 
mustn't,  must  she,  mother?"  said  Meg,  looking  dis- 
tressed. 

"  No ;  never  repeat  that  foolish  gossip,  and  forget 
it  as  soon  as  you  can,"  said  Mrs.  March,  gravely.  "  I 
was  very  unwise  to  let  you  go  among  people  of  whom 
I  know  so  little ;  kind,  I  dare  say,  but  worldly,  ill- 
bred,  and  full  of  these  vulgar  ideas  about  young  people. 
I  am  more  sorry  than  I  can  express,  for  the  mischief 
this  visit  may  have  done  you,  Meg." 

"  Don't  be  sorry,  I  won't  let  it  hurt  me  ;  I'll  forget 
all  the  bad,  and  remember  only  the  good ;  for  I  did 
enjoy  a. great  deal,  and  thank  you  very  much  for  letting 
me  go.  I'll  not  be  sentimental  or  dissatisfied,  mother  ; 
I  know  I'm  a  silly  little  girl,  and  I'll  stay  with  you  till 
I'm  fit  to  take  care  of  myself.  But  it  is  nice  to  be 
praised  and  admired,  and  I  can't  help  saying  I  like 
it,"  said  Meg,  looking  half  ashamed  of  the  confession. 

"  That  is  perfectly  natural,  and  quite  harmless,  if 
the  liking  does  not  become  a  passion,  and  lead  one  to 
do  foolish  or  unmaidenly  things.  Learn  to  know  and 
value  the  praise  which  is  worth  having,  and  to  excite 
the  admiration  of  excellent  people,  by  being  modest  as 
well  as  pretty,  Meg." 

Margaret  sat  thinking  a  moment,  while  Jo  stood 
with  her  hands  behind  her,  looking  both  interested 
and  a  little  perplexed  ;  for  it  was  a  new  thing  to  see 


Meg  goes  to   Vanity  Fair,  145 

Meg  blushing  and  talking  about  admiration,  lovers, 
and  things  of  that  sort,  and  Jo  felt  as  if  during  that 
fortnight  her  sister  had  grown  up  amazingly,  and  was 
drifting  away  from  her  into  a  world  where  she  could 
not  follow. 

"Mother,  do  you  have  '  plans,'  as  Mrs.  Moffat  said  ?" 
asked  Meg,  bashfully. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  I  have  a  great  many;  all  mothers 
do,  but  mine  differ  somewhat  from  Mrs.  Moffat's,  I 
suspect.  I  will  tell  you  some  of  them,  for  the  time 
has  come  when  a  word  may  set  this  romantic  little 
head  and  heart  of  yours  right,  on  a  very  serious  sub- 
ject. You  are  young,  Meg;  but  not  too  young  to 
understand  me,  and  mothers'  lips  are  the  fittest  to 
speak  of  such  things  to  girls  like  you.  Jo,  your  turn 
will  come  in  time,  perhaps,  so  listen  to  my  '  plans,' 
and  help  me  carry  them  out,  if  they  are  good." 

Jo  went  and  sat  on  one  a.rm  of  the  chair,  looking  as 
if  she  thought  they  were  about  to  join  in  some  very 
solemn  affair.  Holding  a  hand  of  each,  and  watching 
the  two  young  faces  wistfully,  Mrs.  March  said,  in  her 
serious  yet  cheery  way,  — 

"  I  want  my  daughters  to  be  beautiful,  accom- 
plished, and  good ;  to  be  admired,  loved,  and  re- 
spected, to  have  a  happy  youth,  to  be  well  and  wisely 
married,  and  to  lead  useful,  pleasant  lives,  with  as 
little  care  and  sorrow  to  try  them  as  God  sees  fit  to 
send.  To  be  loved  and  chosen  by  a  good  man  is  the 
best  and  sweetest  thing  which  can  happen  to  a  woman  ; 
and  I  sincerely  hope  my  girls  may  know  this  beau- 
tiful experience.  It  is  natural  to  think  of  it,  Meg ; 
right  to  hope  and  wait  for  it,  and  wise  to  prepare  for 
10 


i^6  Little  Women, 

it ;  so  that,  when  the  happy  time  comes,  you  may  feel 
ready  for  the  duties,  and  worthy  of  the  joy.  My  dear 
girls,  I  a7n  ambitious  for  you,  but  not  to  have  you 
make  a  dash  in  the  world,  —  marry  rich  men  merely- 
because  they  are  rich,  or  have  splendid  houses,  whicii 
are  not  homes,  because  love  is  wanting.  Money  is  a 
needful  and  precious  thing,  —  and,  when  well  used,  a 
noble  thing,  —  but  I  never  want  you  to  think  it  is  the 
first  or  only  prize  to  strive  for.  I'd  rather  see  you 
poor  men's  Avives,  if  you  were  happy,  beloved,  con- 
tented, than  queens  on  thrones,  without  self-respect 
and  peace." 

"  Poor  girls  don't  stand  any  chance.  Belle  says, 
unless  they  put  themselves  forward,"  sighed  Meg. 

''  Then  we'll  be  old  maids,"  said  Jo,  stoutly. 

"  Right,  Jo  ;  better  be  happy  old  maids  than  un- 
happy wives,  or  unmaidenly  girls,  running  about  to 
find  husbands,"  said  Mrs.  March,  decidedly.  "  Don't 
be  troubled,  Meg ;  poverty  seldom  daunts  a  sincere 
lover.  Some  of  the  best  and  most  honored  women  I 
know  were  poor  girls,  but  so  love-worthy  that  they 
were  not  allowed  to  be  old  maids.  Leave  these  things 
to  time  ;  make  this  home  happy,  so  that  you  may  be  fit 
for  homes  of  your  own,  if  they  are  offered  you,  and 
contented  here  if  they  are  not.  One  thing  remember, 
my  girls,  mother  is  always  ready  to  be  your  confidant, 
father  to  be  your  friend  ;  and  both  of  us  trust  and  hope 
that  our  daughters,  whether  married  or  single,  will  be 
the  pride  and  comfort  of  our  lives." 

"We  will,  Marmee,  we  will ! "  cried  both,  with  all 
their  hearts,  as  she  bade  them  good-night. 


CHAPTER   X. 


THE     P.    C.     AND     P.    O. 


AS  spring  came  on,  a  new  set  of  amusements 
became  the  fashion,  and  the  lengthening  days 
gave  long  afternoons  for  work  and  play  of  all 
sorts.  The  garden  had  to  be  put  in  order,  and  each 
sister  had  a  quarter  of  the  little  plot  to  do  what  she 
liked  with.  Hannah  used  to  say,  "I'd  know  which 
each  of  them  gardings  belonged  to,  ef  I  see  'em  in 
Chiny ;"  and  so  she  might,  for  the  girls'  tastes  differed 
as  much  as  their  characters.  Meg's  had  roses  and  heli- 
otrope, myrtle,  and  a  little  orange-tree  in  it.  Jo's  bed 
was  never  alike  two  seasons,  for  she  was  always  trying 
experiments  ;  this  year  it  was  to  be  a  plantation  of  sun- 
flowers, the  seeds  of  which  cheerful  and  aspiring  plant 
were  to  feed  "Aunt  Cockle-top"  and  her  family  of 
chicks.  Beth  had  old-fashioned,fragrant  flowers  in  her 
garden ;  sweet  peas  and  mignonette,  larkspur,  pinks, 
pansies,  and  southernwood,  with  chickweed  for  the 
bird  and  catnip  for  the  pussies.  Amy  had  a  bower  in 
hers,  —  rather  small  and  earwiggy,  but  very  pretty  to 
look  at,  —  with  honeysuckles  and  morning-glories  hang- 
ing their  colored  horns  and  bells  in  graceful  wreaths 
147  ■ 


148  Little  Women, 

all  over  it ;  tall  white  lilies,  delicate  ferns,  and  as  many 
brilliant,  picturesque  plants  as  would  consent  to  blos- 
som there. 

Gardening,  walks,  rows  on  the  river,  and  flower-^ 
hunts  employed  the  fine  days  ;  and  for  rainy  ones, 
they  had  house  diversions,  —  some  old,  some  new,  — 
all  more  or  less  original.  One  of  these  was  the  "  P. 
C."  ;  for,  as  secret  societies  were  the  fashion,  it  was 
thought  proper  to  have  one  ;  and,  as  all  of  the  girls 
admired  Dickens,  they  called  themselves  the  Pickwick 
Club.  With  a  few  interruptions,  they  had  kept  this 
up  for  a  year,  and  met  every  Saturday  evening  in  the 
big  garret,  on  which  occasions  the  ceremonies  were 
as  follows :  Three  chairs  were  arranged  in  a  row  be- 
fore a  table,  on  which  was  a  lamp,  also  four  white 
badges,  with  a  big  "P.  C."  in  different  colors  on  each, 
and  the  weekly  newspaper,  called  "  The  Pickwick 
Portfolio,"  to  which  all  contributed  something ;  while 
Jo,  who  revelled  in  pens  and  ink,  was  the  editor.  At 
seven  o'clock,  the  four  members  ascended  to  the  club- 
room,  tied  their  badges  round  their  heads,  and  took 
their  seats  with  great  solemnity.  Meg,  as  the  eldest, 
was  Samuel  Pickwick ;  Jo,  being  of  a  literary  turn, 
Augustus  Snodgrass ;  Beth,  because  she  was  round 
and  rosy,  Tracy  Tupman ;  and  Amy,  who  was  always 
trying  to  do  what  she  couldn't,  was  Nathaniel  Winkle. 
Pickwick,  the  President,  read  the  paper,  which  was 
filled  with  original  tales,  poetry,  local  news,  funny 
advertisements,  and  hints,  in  which  they  good-na- 
turedly reminded  each  other  of  their  faults  and  short- 
comings. On  one  occasion,  Mr.  Pickwick  put  on  a 
pair  of  spectacles  without  any  glasses,  rapped  upon 


The  P,  C.  and  P.  O. 


149 


the  table,  hemmed,  and,  having  stared  hard  at  Mr. 
Snodgrass,  who  was  tilting  back  in  his  chair,  till  he 
arranged  himself  properly,  began  to  read,  — 


MAY    20,    18-. 


Poet's  Corner. 


ANNIVERSARY  ODE. 

Again  we  meet  to  celebrate 
"With  badge  and  solemn  rite, 

Our  iifty-second  anniversary, 
In  Pickwick  Hall,  to-night. 

We  all  are  here  in  perfect  health, 
None  gone  from  our  small  band ; 

Again  we  see  each  well-known  face, 
And  press  each  friendly  hand. 

Our  Pickwick,  always  at  his  post. 

With  reverence  we  greet. 
As,  spectacles  on  nose,  he  reads 

Our  well-filled  weekly  sheet. 

Although  he  suffers  from  a  cold. 
We  joy  to  hear  him  speak, 

For  words  of  wisdom  from  him  fall. 
In  spite  of  croak  or  squeak. 

Old  six-foot  Snodgrass  looms  on  high. 

With  elephantine  grace, 
And  beams  upon  the  company. 

With  brown  and  jovial  face. 

Poetic  fire  lights  up  his  eye, 
He  struggles  'gainst  his  lot ; 

Behold  ambition  on  his  brow. 
And  on  his  nose  a  blot  1 


Next  our  peaceful  Tupman  comes. 
So  rosy,  plump  and  sweet. 

Who  chokes  with  laughter  at  the  puns, 
And  tumbles  off  his  seat. 

Prim  little  Winkle  too  is  here, 

With  every  hair  in  place, 
A  model  of  propriety. 

Though  he  hates  to  wash  his  face. 

The  year  is  gone,  we  still  unite 
To  joke  and  laugh  and  read. 

And  tread  the  path  of  literature 
That  doth  to  glory  lead. 

Long  may  our  paper  prosper  well, 

Our  club  unbroken  be, 
And  coming  years  their  blessings  pour 

On  the  useful,  gay  "  P.  C." 

A.  Snodgrass. 

THE  MASKED  MARRIAGE. 
A  TALE  OF  VENICE. 

Gondola  after  gondola  swept  up  to 
the  marble  steps,  and  left  its  lovely 
load  to  swell  the  brilliant  throng  that 
filled  the  stately  halls  of  Count  de 
Adelon.  Knights  and  ladies,  elves 
and  pages,  monks  and  flower-girls, 
all  mingled  gaily  in  the  dance.  Sweet 
voices  and  rich  melody  filled  the  air; 
and  so  with  mirth  and  music  the  mas- 
querade went  on. 


ISO 


Little  Women, 


"  Has  your  Highness  seen  the  Lady 
Viola  to-night  ?  "  asked  a  gallant  trou- 
badour of  the  fairy  queen  who  floated 
down  the  hall  upon  his  arm. 

"  Yes ;  is  she  not  lovely,  though  so 
ead  1  Her  dress  is  well  chosen,  too, 
for  in  a  week  she  weds  Count  Anto- 
nio, whom  she  passionately  hates." 

"  By  ray  faith  I  envy  him.  Yonder 
he  comes,  arrayed  like  a  bridegroom, 
except  the  black  mask.  When  that  is 
off  we  shall  see  how  he  regards  the 
fair  maid  whose  heart  he  cannot  win, 
though  her  stern  father  bestows  her 
hand,"  returned  the  troubadour. 

"  'Tis  whispered  that  she  loves  the 
young  English  artist  who  haunts  her 
steps,  and  is  spurned  by  the  old 
count,"  said  the  lady,  as  they  joined 
the  dance. 

The  revel  was  at  its  height  when  a 
priest  appeared,  and,  withdrawing  the 
young  pair  to  an  alcove  hung  with 
purple  velvet,  he  motioned  them  to 
kneel.  Instant  silence  fell  upon  the 
gay  throng;  and  not  a  sound,  but  the 
dash  of  fountains  or  the  rustle  of 
orange  groves  sleeping  in  the  moon- 
light, broke  the  hush,  as  Count  de 
Adelon  spoke  thus :  — 

"My  lords  and  ladies;  pardon  the 
ruse  by  which  I  have  gathered  j^ou 
here  to  witness  the  marriage  of  mj' 
daughter.  Father,  we  wait  your  ser- 
vices." 

All  eyes  turned  toward  the  bridal 
party,  and  a  low  murmur  of  amaze- 
ment went  through  the  throng,  for 
neither  bride  nor  groom  removed 
their  masks.  Curiosity  and  wonder 
possessed  all  hearts,  but  respect  re- 
strained all  tongues  till  the  holy  rite 
was  over.  Then  the  eager  spectators 
gathered  round  the  count,  demanding 
an  explanation. 

"  Gladly  would  I  give  it  if  I  could ; 
but  I  only  know  that  it  waa  the  whim 


of  my  timid  Viola,  and  I  yielded  to  it. 
Now,  my  children,  let  the  play  end. 
Unmask,  and  receive  my  blessing." 

But  neither  bent  the  knee;  for  the 
young  bridegroom  replied,  in  a  tone 
that  startled  all  listeners,  as  the  mask 
fell,  disclosing  the  noble  face  of  Fer- 
dinand Devereux,  the  artist  lover,  and, 
leaning  on  the  breast  where  now 
flashed  the  star  of  an  English  earl, 
was  the  lovely  Viola,  radiant  with 
joy  and  beauty. 

"  My  lord,  you  scornfully  bade  me 
claim  your  daughter  when  I  could 
boast  as  high  a  name  and  vast  a  for- 
tune as  the  Count  Antonio.  I  can  do 
more ;  for  even  your  ambitious  soul 
cannot  refuse  the  Earl  of  Devereux 
and  De  Vere,  when  he  gives  his  an- 
cient name  and  boundless  wealth  in 
return  for  the  beloved  hand  of  this 
fair  lady,  now  my  wife." 

The  count  stood  like  one  changed 
to  stone;  and,  turning  to  the  bewil- 
dered crowd,  Ferdinand  added,  with 
a  gay  smile  of  triumph,  "  To  you,  my 
gallant  friends,  I  can  only  wish  that 
your  wooing  may  prosper  as  mine 
has  done ;  and  that  j^ou  may  all  win  as 
fair  a  bride  as  I  have,  by  this  masked 

marriage." 

S.  Pickwick. 


Why  is  the  P.  C.  like  the  Tower 
of  Babel  ?  It  is  full  of  unruly  mem- 
bers. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  A  SQUASH. 

Once  upon  a  time  a  farmer  planted 
a  little  seed  in  his  garden,  and  after  a 
while  it  sprouted  and  became  a  vine, 
and  bore  many  squashes.  One  day  in 
October,  when  they  were  ripe,  he 
picked  one  and  took  it  to  market.  A 
grocer  man  bought  and  put  it  in  his 
shop.    That  same  morning,  a  little 


The  P.  C.  and  P.  O. 


151 


girl,  in  a  brown  hat  and  blue  dress, 
■with  a  round  face  and  snubby  nose, 
went  and  bought  it  for  her  mother. 
She  lugged  it  home,  cut  it  up,  and 
boiled  it  in  the  big  pot ;  mashed  some 
of  it,  with  salt  and  butter,  for  dinner ; 
and  to  the  rest  she  added  a  pint  of 
milk,  two  eggs,  four  spoons  of  sugar, 
nutmeg,  and  some  crackers;  put  it 
in  a  deep  dish,  and  baked  it  till  it  was 
brown  and  nice ;  and  next  day  it  was 
eaten  by  a  family  named  March. 

T.  TUPMAN. 


Mr.  Pickwick,  Sir:  — 

I  address  you  upon  the  subject  of 
sin  the  sinner  I  mean  is  a  man  named 
Winkle  who  makes  trouble  in  his 
club  by  laughing  and  sometimes  won't 
write  his  piece  in  this  fine  paper  I 
hope  you  will  pardon  his  badness 
and  let  him  send  a  French  fable  be- 
cause he  can't  write  out  of  his  head 
as  he  has  so  many  lessons  to  do  and  no 
brains  in  future  I  will  try  to  take  time 
by  the  fetlock  and  prepare  some  work 
which  will  be  all  commy  la  fo  that 
means  all  right  I  am  in  haste  as  it  is 
nearly  school  time 

Yours  respectably    N.  "Winkle. 

[The  above  is  amanly  and  handsome 
acknowledgment  of  past  misdemean- 
ors. If  our  young  friend  studied 
punctuation,  it  would  be  well.] 

A  SAD  ACCIDENT. 

On  Friday  last,  we  were  startled 
by  a  violent  shock  in  our  basement, 
followed  by  cries  of  distress.  On 
rushing,  in  a  body,  to  the  cellar,  we 
discovered  our  beloved  President 
prostrate  upon  the  floor,  having 
tripped  and  fallen  while  getting  wood 
for  domestic  purposes,  A  perfect 
ficene  of  ruin  met  our  eyes;  for  in  his 


fall  Mr.  Pickwick  had  plunged  his 
head  and  shoulders  into  a  tub  of 
water,  upset  a  keg  of  soft  soap  upon 
his  manly  form,  and  torn  his  gar- 
ments badly.  On  being  removed 
from  this  perilous  situation,  it  was 
discovered  that  he  had  sufiered  no 
injury  but  sevei-al  bruises;  and,  we 
are  happy  to  add,  is  now  doing  well. 
Ed. 


THE  PUBLIC  BEREAVEMENT. 

It  is  our  painful  duty  to  record 
the  sudden  and  mysterious  disap- 
pearance of  our  cherished  friend, 
Mrs.  Snowball  Pat  Paw.  This  love- 
ly and  beloved  cat  was  the  pet  of  a 
large  circle  of  warm  and  admiring 
friends ;  for  her  beauty  attracted  all 
eyes,  her  graces  and  virtues  en- 
deared her  to  all  hearts,  and  her 
loss  is  deeply  felt  by  the  whole 
community. 

When  last  seen,  she  was  sitting 
at  the  gate,  watching  the  butcher's 
cart ;  and  it  is  feared  that  some  vil- 
lain, tempted  by  her  charms,  basely 
stole  her.  Weeks  have  passed,  but 
no  trace  of  her  has  been  discovered ; 
and  we  relinquish  all  hope,  tie  a 
black  ribbon  to  her  basket,  set  aside 
her  dish,  and  weep  for  her  as  one 
lost  to  us  forever. 


A  sympathizing  friend  sends  the 
following  gem :  — 

A  LAMENT 
FOR  8.  B.   PAT  PAW. 

We  mourn  the  loss  of  our  little  pet, 
And  sigh  o'er  her  hapless  fate, 

For  never  more  by  the  fire  she'll  sit, 
Nor  play  by  the  old  green  gate. 


152 


Little  W 0711671. 


The   little  grave   where   her   infant 
sleeps, 

Is  'neath  the  chestnut  tree ; 
But  o'er  Tier  grave  we  may  not  weep, 

We  know  not  where  it  may  be. 

Her  empty  bed,  her  idle  ball, 

Will  never  see  her  more ; 
No  gentle  tap,  no  loving  purr 

Is  heard  at  the  parlor  door. 

Another  cat  comes  after  her  mice, 

A  cat  with  a  dirty  face ; 
But  she  does  not  hunt  as  our  darling 
did. 

Nor  play  with  her  airy  grace. 

Her  stealthy  paws  tread  the  very  hall 
Where  Snowball  used  to  play. 

Bat  she  only  spits  at  the  dogs  our  pet 
So  gallantly  drove  away. 

She  is  useful  and  mild,  and  does  her 
best, 
But  she  is  not  fair  to  see ; 
And  we  cannot  give  her  your  place, 
dear. 
Nor  worship  her  as  we  worship  thee. 

A.   S. 

ADVERTISEMENTS.      * 

MISS  ORANTHT  BLUGG-AGE, 
the  accomplished  Strong-Mindod  Lec- 
turer, will  deliver  her  famous  Lecture 
on  "  Woman  and  Her  Position," 
at  Pickwick  Hall,  next  Saturday 
Evening,    after  the    usual   perform- 


A  WEEKLY  MEETING  will  be 
held  at  Kitchen  Place,  to  teach  young 
ladies  how  to  cook.  Hannah  Brown 
will  preside;  and  all  are  invited  to 
attend. 


THE  DUSTPAN  SOCIETY  will 
meet  on  Wednesday  next,  and  parade 
in  the  upper  story  of  the  Club  House. 
All  members  to  appear  in  uniform 
and  shoulder  their  brooms  at  nine 
precisely. 


MRS.  BETH  BOUNCER  will  open 
her  new  assortment  of  Doll's  Millinery 
next  week.  The  latest  Paris  Fash 
ions  have  arrived,  and  orders  are  re- 
spectfully solicited. 


A  NEW  PLAY  will  appear  at  the 
Barnville  Theatre,  in  the  course  of  a 
few  weeks,  which  will  surpass  any- 
thing ever  seen  on  the  American  stage. 
"  The  Greek  Slave,  or  Constan- 
tine  the  Avenger,"  is  the  name  of  this 
thrilling  dran::a  1 !  I 

HINTS. 
If  S.  P.  didn't  use  so  much  soap  ou 
his  hands,  he  wouldn't  always  be  late 
at  breakfast.  A.  S.  is  requested  not 
to  whistle  in  the  street.  T.  T.  please 
don't  forget  Amy's  napkin.  N.  W. 
must  not  fret  because  his  dress  has 
not  nine  tucks. 


WEEKLY  REPORT. 
Meg  —  Good. 
Jo  — Bad. 
Beth  —  Very  good. 
Amy  —  Middling. 


As  the  President  finished  reading  the  paper  (which 
T  beg  leave  to  assure  my  readers  is  a  bona  Jide  copy 
of  one  written  by  bona  Jide  girls  once  upon  a  time). 


The  P,  a  and  P.  O.  153 

a  round  of  applause  followed,  and  then  Mr.  Snodgrass 
rose  to  make  a  proposition. 

"  Mr.  President  and  gentlemen,"  he  began,  assuming 
a  parliamentary  attitude  and  tone,  "  I  wish  to  propose 
the  admission  of  a  new  member  ;  one  who  highly  de- 
sei-ves  the  honor,  vvould  be  deeply  grateful  for  it,  and 
would  add  immensely  to  the  spirit  of  the  club,  the 
literary  value  of  the  paper,  and  be  no  end  jolly  and 
nice.  I  propose  Mr.  Theodore  Laurence  as  an  honorary 
member  of  the  P.  C.     Come  now,  do  have  him." 

Jo's  sudden  change  of-  tone  made  the  girls  laugh ; 
but  all  looked  rather  anxious,  and  no  one  said  a  word, 
as  Snodgrass  took  his  seat. 

"We'll  put  it  to  vote,"  said  the  President.  "  All  in 
favor  of  this  motion  please  to  manifest  it  by  saying 
'  Aye.' " 

A  loud  response  from  Snodgrass,  followed,  to  every- 
body's surprise,  by  a  timid  one  from  Beth. 

"Contrary  minded  say  'No.'" 

Meg  and  Amy  were  contrary  minded  ;  and  Mr. 
Winkle  rose  to  say,  with  great  elegance,  "  We  don't 
wish  any  boys ;  they  only  joke  and  bounce  about. 
This  is  a  ladies'  club,  and  we  wish  to  be  private  and 
proper." 

"  I'm  afraid  he'll  laugh  at  our  paper,  and  make  fun 
of  us  afterward,"  observed  Pickwick,  pulling  the  little 
curl  on  her  forehead,  as  she  always  did  when  doubtful. 

Up  bounced  Snodgrass,  very  much  in  earnest. 
"  Sir !  I  give  you  my  word  as  a  gentleman,  Laurie 
won't  do  anything  of  the  sort.  He  likes  to  write,  and 
he'll  give  a  tone  to  our  contributions,  and  keep  us 
from  being  sentimental,  don't  you  see  ?      We  can  do 


154  Little  Women, 

so  little  for  him,  and  he  does  so  much  for  us,  I  think 
the  least  we  can  do  is  to  offer  him  a  place  here,  and 
make  him  welcome,  if  he  comes." 

This  artful  allusion  to  benefits  conferred,  brought 
Tupman  to  his  feet,  looking  as  if  he  had  quite  made 
up  his  mind. 

"  Yes ;  we  ought  to  do  it,  even  if  we  are  afraid.  I 
say  he  may  come,  and  his  grandpa  too,  if  he  likes." 

This  spirited  burst  from  Beth  electrified  the  club, 
and  Jo  left  her  seat  to  shake  hands  approvingly. 
•'  Now  then,  vote  again.  Everybody  remember  it's 
our  Laurie,  and  say  '  Aye ! ' "  cried  Snodgrass,  ex- 
citedly. 

"  Aye  !  aye !  aye  !  "  replied  three  voices  at  once. 

"Good!  bless  you!  now,  as  there's  nothing  like 
*  taking  time  by  the  fetlock^'  as  Winkle  characteris- 
tically observes,  allow  me  to  present  the  new  member  ; " 
and,  to  the  dismay  of  the  rest  of  the  club,  Jo  threw 
open  the  door  of  the  closet,  and  displayed  Laurie 
sitting  on  a  rag-bag,  flushed  and  twinkling  with  sup- 
pressed laughter. 

"You  rogue!  you  traitor!  Jo,  how  could  you?" 
cried  the  three  girls,  as  Snodgrass  led  her  friend 
triumphantly  forth  ;  and,  producing  both  a  chair  and  a 
badge,  installed  him  in  a  jiffy. 

"  The  coolness  of  you  two  rascals  is  amazing,"  be 
gan  Mr.  Pickwick,  trying  to  get  up  an  awful  frown, 
and  only  succeeding  in  producing  an  amiable  smile. 
But  the  new  member  was  equal  to  the  occasion  ;  and, 
rising  with  a  grateful  salutation  to  the  Chair,  said, 
in  the  most  engaging  manner,  —  "Mr.  President  and 
ladies,  —  I  beg  pardon,  gentlemen, — allow  me  to  in- 


The  F.  a  and  F.  O.  155 

troduce  myself  as  Sam  Weller,  the  very  humble  ser- 
vant of  the  club." 

"  Good,  good  !  "  cried  Jo,  pounding  M^ith  the  handle 
of  the  old  warming-pan  on  which  she  leaned. 

"  My  faithful  friend  and  noble  patron,"  continued 
Laurie,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  "  who  has  so  flatter- 
ingly presented  me,  is  not  to  be  blamed  for  the  base 
stratagem  of  to-night.  I  planned  it,  and  she  only 
gave  in  after  lots  of  teasing." 

"  Come  now,  don't  lay  it  all  on  yourself;  you  know 
I  proposed  the  cupboard,"  broke  in  Snodgrass,  who 
was  enjoying  the  joke  amazingly. 

"  Never  you  mind  what  she  says.  I'm  the  wretch 
that  did  it,  sir,"  said  the  new  member,  with  a  Weller- 
esque  nod  to  Mr.  Pickwick.  "  But  on  my  honor,  I 
never  will  do  so  again,  and  henceforth  dewote  myself 
to  the  interest  of  this  immortal  club." 

"  Hear !  hear ! "  cried  Jo,  clashing  the  lid  of  the 
warming-pan  like  a  cymbal. 

"  Go  on,  go  on ! "  added  Winkle  and  Tupman, 
while  the  President  bowed  benignly. 

"  I  merely  wish  to  say,  that  as  a  slight  token  of  my 
gratitude  for  the  honor  done  me,  and  as  a  means 
of  promoting  friendly  relations  between  adjoining 
nations,  I  have  set  up  a  post-office  in  the  hedge  in  the 
lower  corner  of  the  garden ;  a  fine,  spacious  build- 
ing, with  padlocks  on  the  doors,  and  every  con- 
venience for  the  mails,  —  also  the  females,  if  I  may  be 
allowed  the  expression.  It's  the  old  martin-house ; 
but  I've  stopped  up  the  door,  and  made  the  roof  open, 
so  it  will  hold  all  sorts  of  things,  and  save  our  valuable 


156  JLittle  Wofuen, 

time.  Letters,  manuscripts,  books  and  bundles  can  be 
passed  in  there  ;  and,  as  each  nation  has  a  key,  it  will 
be  uncommonly  nice,  I  fancy.  Allow  me  to  present 
the  club  key ;  and,  with  many  thanks  for  your  favor, 
take  my  seat." 

Great  applause  as  Mr.  Weller  deposited  a  little 
key  on  the  table,  and  subsided ;  the  warming-pan 
clashed  and  waved  wildly,  and  it  was  some  time  be- 
fore order  could  be  restored.  A  long  discussion  fol- 
lowed, and  every  one  came  out  surprising,  for  every 
one  did  her  best ;  so  it  was  an  unusually  lively  meet- 
ing, and  did  not  adjourn  till  a  late  hour,  when  it 
broke  up  with  three  shrill  cheers  for  the  new  member. 

No  one  ever  regretted  the  admittance  of  Sam  Wel- 
ler, for  a  more  devoted,  well-behaved,  and  jovial 
member  no  club  could  have.  He  certainly  did  add 
"  spirit"  to  the  meetings,  and  "  a  tone "  to  the  paper  ; 
for  his  orations  convulsed  his  hearers,  and  his  contribu- 
tions were  excellent,  being  patriotic,  classical,  com- 
ical, or  dramatic,  but  never  sentimental.  Jo  regarded 
them  as  worthy  of  Bacon,  Milton,  or  Shakespeare ; 
and  remodelled  her  own  works  with  good  effect,  she 
thought. 

The  P.  O.  was  a  capital  little  institution,  and  flour- 
ished wonderfully,  for  nearly  as  many  queer  things 
passed  through  it  as  through  the  real  office.  Trag- 
edies and  cravats,  poetry  and  pickles,  garden  seeds  and 
long  letters,  music  and  gingerbread,  rubbers,  invi- 
tations, scoldings  and  puppies.  The  old  gentleman 
liked  the  fun,  and  amused  himself  by  sending  odd 
bundles,  mysterious  messages,  and  funny  telegrams; 


The  P,  C.  and  P,  O,  157 

and  his  gardener,  who  was  smitten  with  Hannah's 
charms,  actually  sent  a  love-letter  to  Jo's  care.  How 
they  laughed  when  the  secret  came  out,  never  dream- 
ing how  many  love-letters  that  little  post-office  would 
hold  in  the  years  to  come ! 


CHAPTER   XI. 


EXPERIMENTS. 


THE  first  of  June ;  the  Kings  are  off  to  the  sea- 
sliore  to-morrow,  and  I'm  free  !  Three  months' 
vacation !  how  I  shall  enjoy  it !  "  exclaimed 
Meg,  coming  home  one  warm  day  to  find  Jo  laid  upon 
the  sofa  in  an  unusual  state  of  exhaustion,  while  Beth 
took  off  her  dusty  boots,  and  Amy  made  lemonade  for 
the  refreshment  of  the  whole  party. 

"  Aunt  March  went  to-day,  for  which,  oh  be  joyful ! " 
said  Jo.  "  I  was  mortally  afraid  she'd  ask  me  to  go 
with  her ;  if  she  had,  I  should  have  felt  as  if  I  ought 
to  do  it ;  but  Plumfield  is  about  as  festive  as  a  church- 
yard, you  know,  and  I'd  rather  be  excused.  We  had 
a  flurry  getting  the  old  lady  off,  and  I  had  a  scare 
every  time  she  spoke  to  me,  for  I  was  in  such  a  hurry 
to  be  through  that  I  was  uncommonly  helpful  and 
sweet,  and  feared  she'd  find  it  impossible  to  part  from 
me.  I  quaked  till  she  was  fairly  in  the  carriage,  and 
had  a  final  fright,  for,  as  it  drove  off,  she  popped  out  her 
head,  saying,  '  Josy-phine,  won't  you  —  ?^  I  didn't  hear 
any  more,  for  I  basely  turned  and  fled  ;  I  did  actually 
run,  and  whisked  round  the  corner,  where  I  felt  safe." 

158 


Experiments,  159 

"  Poor  old  Jo  !  she  came  in  looking  as  if  bears  were 
after  her,"  said  Beth,  as  she  cuddled  her  sister's  feet 
with  a  motherly  air. 

"Aunt  March  is  a  regular  samphire,  is  she  not?" 
observed  Amy,  tasting  her  mixture  critically. 

"  She  means  vainpire^  not  sea-weed ;  but  it  don't 
matter ;  it's  too  warm  to  be  particular  about  one's 
parts  of  speech,"  murmured  Jo. 

"What  shall  you  do  all  your  vacation.?"  asked 
Amy,  changing  the  subject,  with  tact. 

"  I  shall  lie  abed  late,  and  do  nothing,"  replied 
Meg,  from  the  depths  of  the  rocking-chair.  "  I've  been 
routed  up  early  all  winter,  and  had  to  spend  my  days 
w^orking  for  other  people ;  so  now  I'm  going  to  rest 
and  revel  to  my  heart's  content." 

"Hum!"  said  Jo;  "  that  dozy  way  wouldn't  suit 
me.  I've  laid  in  a  heap  of  books,  and  I'm  going  to 
improve  my  shining  hours  reading  on  my  perch  in  the 
old  apple-tree,  when  I'm  not  having  1 —  " 

"  Don't  say  '  larks  ! '  "  implored  Amy,  as  a  return 
snub  for  the  "  samphire  "  correction. 

"I'll  sa)'  '  nightingales, '  then,  with  Laurie;  that's 
proper  and  appropriate,  since  he's  a  warbler." 

"  Don't  let  us  do  any  lessons,  Beth,  for  a  while,  but 
play  all  the  time,  and  rest,  as  the  girls  mean  to,"  pro- 
posed Amy. 

"  Well,  I  will,  if  mother  don't  mind.  I  want  to 
learn  some  new  songs,  and  my  children  need  fixing 
up  for  the  summer  ;  they  are  dreadfully  out  of  order, 
and  really  suffering  for  clothes." 

'^ May  we,  mother?"  asked  Meg,  turning   to  Mrs. 


i6o  Little  Women. 

March,  who  sat  sewing,  in  what  they  called  "  Mar- 
mee's  corner." 

"  You  may  try  your  experiment  for  a  week,  and  see 
how  you  like  it.  I  think  by  Saturday  night  you  will 
find  that  all  play,  and  no  work,  is  as  bad  as  all  work, 
and  no  play." 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  !  it  will  be  delicious,  I'm  sure,"  said 
Meg,  complacently. 

"  I  now  propose  a  toast,  as  my  '  friend  and  pardner, 
Sairy  Gamp,**  says.  Fun  forever,  and  no  grubbage," 
cried  Jo,  rising,  glass  in  hand,  as  the  lemonade  went 
round. 

They  all  drank  it  merrily,  and  began  the  experiment 
by  lounging  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  Next  morning, 
Meg  did  not  appear  till  ten  o'clock ;  her  solitary 
breakfast  did  not  taste  good,  and  the  room  seemed 
lonely  and  untidy,  for  Jo  had  not  filled  the  vases,  Beth 
had  not  dusted,  and  Amy's  books  lay  scattered  about. 
Nothing  was  neat  and  pleasant  but  "  Marmee's  corner," 
which  looked  as  usual ;  and  there  she  sat,  to  "  rest  and 
read,"  which  meant  yawn,  and  imagine  what  pretty 
summer  dresses  she  would  get  with  her  salary.  Jo 
spent  the  morning  on  the  river,  with  Laurie,  and  the 
afternoon  reading  and  crying  over  "  The  Wide,  Wide 
World,"  up  in  the  apple-tree.  Beth  began  by  rummag- 
ing everything  out  of  the  big  closet,  where  her  family 
resided ;  but,  getting  tired  before  half  done,  she  left 
her  establishment  topsy-turvy,  and  went  to  her  music, 
rejoicing  that  she  had  no  dishes  to  wash.  Amy 
arranged  her  bower,  put  on  her  best  white  frock, 
smoothed  her  curls,  and  sat  down  to  draw,  under  the 
honeysuckles,    hoping  some  one  would    see   and    in- 


Experiments,  i6i 

quire  who  the  young  artist  was.  As  no  one  appeared 
but  an  inquisitive  daddy-long-legs,  who  examined  her 
work  with  interest,  she  went  to  walk,  got  caught  in  a 
shower,  and  came  home  dripping. 

At  tea-time  they  compared  notes,  and  all  agreed 
that  it  had  been  a  delightful,  though  unusually  long 
day.  Meg,  who  went  shopping  in  the  afternoon,  and 
got  a  "  sweet  blue  muslin,"  had  discovered,  after  she 
had  cut  the  breadths  off,  that  it  wouldn't  wash,  which 
mishap  made  her  slightly  cross.  Jo  had  burnt  the 
skin  off  her  nose  boating,  and  got  a  raging  headache 
by  reading  too  long.  Beth  was  worried  by  the  confu- 
sion of  her  closet,  and  the  difficulty  of  learning  three 
or  four  songs  at  once  ;  and  Amy  deeply  regretted  the 
damage  done  her  frock,  for  Katy  Brown's  party  was 
to  be  the  next  day  ;  and  now,  like  Flora  McFlimsy,  she 
had  "  nothing  to  wear."  But  these  were  mere  trifles  ; 
and  they  assured  their  mother  that  the  experiment 
was  working  finely.  She  smiled,  said  nothing,  and, 
with  Hannah's  help,  did  their  neglected  work,  keeping 
home  pleasant,  and  the  domestic  machinery  running 
smoothly.  It  was  astonishing  what  a  peculiar  and 
uncomfortable  state  of  things  was  produced  by  the 
"resting  and  revelling"  process.  The  days  kept 
getting  longer  and  longer ;  the  weather  was  unusually 
variable,  and  so  were  tempers  ;  an  unsettled  feeling 
possessed  every  one,  and  Satan  found  plenty  of  mis- 
chief for  the  idle  hands  to  do.  As  the  height  of  luxury, 
Meg  put  out  some  of  her  sewing,  and  then  found  time 
hang  so  heavily,  that  she  fell  to  snipping  and  spoiling 
her  clothes,  in  her  attempts  to  furbish  .them  up,  a  la 
Moffat.    Jo  read  till  her  eyes  gave  out,  and  she  was 

T  1 


1 6  2  L  ittle  Woffi  e  n . 

sick  of  books ;  got  so  fidgety  that  even  good-natured 
Laurie  had  a  quarrel  with  her,  and  so  reduced  in 
spirits  that  she  desperately  wished  she  had  gone  with 
Aunt  March.  Beth  got  on  prett}^  well,  for  she  was 
constantly  forgetting  that  it*was  to  be  all  play^  and 
no  work^  and  fell  back  into  her  old  ways,  now  and 
then ;  but  something  in  the  air  affected  her,  and,  more 
than  once,  her  tranquillity'  was  much  disturbed ;  so 
much  so,  that,  on  one  occasion,  she  actually  shook 
poor  dear  Joanna,  and  told  her  she  was  "  a  fright." 
Amy  fared  worst  of  all,  for  her  resources  were  small ; 
and,  when  her  sisters  left  her  to  amuse  and  care  for 
herself,  she  soon  found  that  accomplished  and  impor- 
tant little  self  a  great  burden.  She  didn't  like  dolls  ; 
fairy  tales  were  childish,  and  one  couldn't  draw  all  the 
time.  Tea-parties  didn't  amount  to  much,  neither  did 
picnics,  unless  very  well  conducted.  "If  one  could 
have  a  fine  house,  full  of  nice  girls,  or  go  travelling, 
the  summer  would  be  delightful ;  but  to  stay  at  home 
with  three  selfish  sisters,  and  a  grown-up  boy,  was 
enough  to  try  the  patience  of  a  Boaz,"  complained 
Miss  Malaprop,  after  several  days  devoted  to  pleasure, 
fretting,  and  e?i7iui. 

No  one  would  own  that  they  were  tired  of  the  exper- 
iment ;  but,  by  Friday  night,  each  acknowledged  to 
herself  that  they  were  glad  the  week  was  nearly 
done.  Hoping  to  impress  the  lesson  more  deeply, 
Mrs.  March,  who  had  a  good  deal  of  humor,  resolved 
to  finish  oft' the  trial  in  an  appropriate  manner ;  so  she 
gave  Hannah  a  holiday,  and  let  the  girls  enjoy  the  full 
effect  of  the  play  system. 

When  they  got  up  on  Saturday  morning,  there  was 


Experiments,  163 

no  fire  in  the  kitchen,  no  breakfast  in  the  dining-room, 
and  no  mother  anywhere  to  be  seen. 

'^  Mercy  on  us !  what  has  happened  ? "  cried  Jo, 
staring  about  her  in  dismay. 

Meg  ran  up  stairs,  and  soon  came  back  again, 
looking  relieved*,  but  rather  bewildered,  and  a  little 
ashamed. 

"  Mother  isn't  sick,  only  very  tired,  and  she  says  she 
is  going  to  stay  quietly  in  her  room  all  day,  and  let  us 
do  the  best  we  can.  It's  a  very  queer  thing  for  her  to 
do,  she  don't  act  a  bit  like  herself;  but  she  says  it  has 
been  a  hard  week  for  her,  so  we  mustn't  grumble,  but 
take  care  of  ourselves." 

"  That's  easy  enough,  and  I  like  the  idea ;  Fm  ach- 
ing for  something  to  do  —  that  is,  some  new  amuse- 
ment, you  know,"  added  Jo,  quickly. 

In  fact  it  was  an  immense  relief  to  them  all  to  have 
a  little  work,  and  they  took  hold  with  a  will,  but  soon 
realized  the  truth  of  Hannah's  saying,  "  Housekeep- 
ing ain't  no  joke."  There  was  plenty  of  food  in  the 
larder,  and,  while  Beth  and  Amy  set  the  table,  Meg 
and  Jo  got  breakfast ;  wondering,  as  they  did  so,  why 
servants  ever  talked  about  hard  work. 

"  I  shall  take  some  up  to  mother,  though  she  said 
we  were  not  to  think  of  her,  for  she'd  take  care  of  her- 
self," said  Meg,  who  presided,  and  felt  quite  matronly 
behind  the  teapot. 

So  a  tray  was  fitted  out  before  any  one  began,  and 
taken  up,  with  the  cook's  compliments.  The  boiled 
tea  was  very  bitter,  the  omelette  scorched,  and  the 
biscuits  speckled  with  saleratus ;  but  Mrs.  March  re- 


1 64  L  it  tie   Wo  men, 

ceived  her  repast  with  thanks,  and  laughed  heartily 
over  it  after  Jo  was  gone. 

"  Poor  little  souls,  they  will  have  a  hard  time,  I'm 
afraid ;  but  they  w^on't  suffer,  and  it  will  do  them 
good,"  she  said,  producing  the  more  palatable  viands 
with  which  she  had  provided  herself,  and  disposing  of 
the  bad  breakfast,  so  that  their  feelings  might  not  be 
hurt ;  —  a  motherly  little  deception,  for  which  they  were 
grateful. 

Many  were  the  complaints  below,  and  great  the 
chagrin  of  the  head  cook,  at  her  failures.  "Never 
mind,  I'll  get  the  dinner,  and  be  servant ;  you  be 
missis,  keep  your  hands  nice,  see  company,  and  give 
orders,"  said  Jo,  who  knew  still  less  than  Meg  about 
culinary  affairs. 

This  obliging  offer  was  gladly  accepted ;  and  Mar- 
garet retired  to  the  parlor,  which  she  hastily  put  in 
order  by  whisking  the  litter  under  the  sofa,  and  shut- 
ting the  blinds,  to  save  the  trouble  of  dusting.  Jo, 
with  perfect  faith  in  her  own  powers,  and  a  friendly 
desire  to  make  up  the  quarrel,  immediately  put  a  note 
in  the  office,  inviting  Laurie  to  dinner. 

"You'd  better  see  what  you  have  got  before  you 
think  of  having  company,"  said  Meg,  when  informed 
of  the  hospitable,  but  rash  act. 

"  Oh,  there's  corned  beef,  and  plenty  of  potatoes ; 
and  I  shall  get  some  asparagus,  and  a  lobster,  '  for  a 
relish,'  as  Hannah  says.  We'll  have  lettuce,  and 
make  a  salad ;  I  don't  kpow  how,  but  the  book  tells. 
I'll  have  blanc-mange  and  strawberries  for  dessert; 
and  coffee,  too,  if  you  want  to  be  elegant." 

"  Don't  try  too  many  messes,  Jo,  for  you  can't  make 


Experiments,  165 

anything  but  gingerbread  and  molasses  candy,  fit  to 
eat.  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  dinner-party  ;  and,  since 
you  have  asked  Laurie  on  your  own  responsibility, 
you  may  just  take  care  of  him." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  do  anything  but  be  clever  to 
him,  and  help  to  the  pudding.  You'll  give  me  your 
advice  if  I  get  stuck,  won't  you  ? "  asked  Jo,  rather 
hurt. 

"Yes  ;  but  I  don't  know  much,  except  about  bread^ 
and  a  few  trifles.  You  had  better  ask  mother's  leave, 
before  you  onder  anything,"  returned  Meg,  prudently. 

"  Of  course  I  shall ;  I  ain't  a  fool,"  and  Jo  went  off 
in  a  huff  at  the  doubts  expressed  of  her  powers. 

"  Get  what  you  like,  and  don't  disturb  me ;  I'm 
going  out  to  dinner,  and  can't  worry  about  things  at 
home,"  said  Mrs.  March,  when  Jo  spoke  to  her.  "  I 
never  enjoyed  housekeeping,  and  I'm  going  to  take  a 
vacation  today,  and  read,  write,  go  visiting  and  amuse 
myself." 

The  unusual  spectacle  of  her  busy  mother  rocking 
comfortably,  and  reading  early  in  the  morning,  made 
Jo  feel  as  if  some  natural  phenomenon  had  occurred  ; 
for  an  eclipse,  an  earthquake,  or  a  volcanic  eruption 
would  hardly  have  seemed  stranger. 

"  Everything  is  out  of  sorts,  somehow,"  she  said  to 
herself,  going  down  stairs.  "  There's  Beth  crying ; 
thaf  s  a  sure  sign  that  something  is  wrong  with  this 
family.     If  Amy  is  bothering,  Til  shake  her." 

Feeling  very  much  out  of  sorts  herself,  Jo  hurried 
into  the  parlor  to  find  Beth  sobbing  over  Pip,  the 
canary,  who  lay  dead  in  the  cage,  with  his  little  claws 


1 66  Little  Women, 

pathetically  extended,  as  if  imploring  the  food,  for 
want  of  which  he  had  died. 

"It's  all  my  fault  —  I  forgot  him  —  there  isn't  a 
seed  or  drop  left  —  oh,  Pip  !  oh,  Pip  !  how  could  I  be 
so  cruel  to  you  ?  "  cried  Beth,  taking  the  poor  thing  in 
her  hands,  and  trying  to  restore  him. 

Jo  peeped  into  his  half-open  eye,  felt  his  little  heart, 
and  finding  him  stiff  and  cold,  shook  her  head,  and 
offered  her  domino-box  for  a  coffin. 

"  Put  him  in  the  oven,  and  maybe  he  will  get  warm, 
and  revive,"  said  Amy,  hopefully. 

"  He's  been  starved,  and  he  shan't  be  baked,  now 
he's  dead.  I'll  make  him  a  shroud,  and  he  shall  be 
buried  in  the  grave  ;  and  I'll  never  have  another  bird, 
never,  my  Pip  !  for  I  am  too  bad  to  own  one,"  mur- 
mured Beth,  sitting  on  the  floor  with  her  pet  folded  in 
her  hands. 

"  The  funeral  shall  be  this  afternoon,  and  we  will 
all  go.  Now,  don't  cry,  Bethy ;  it's  a  pity,  but  noth- 
ing goes  right  this  week,  and  Pip  has  had  the  worst 
of  the  experiment.  Make  the  shroud,  and  lay  him  in 
my  box  ;  and,  after  the  dinner-party,  we'll  have  a  nice 
little  funeral,"  said  Jo,  beginning  to  feel  as  if  she  had 
undertaken  a  good  deal. 

Leaving  the  others  to  console  Beth,  she  departed  to 
the  kitchen,  which  v^as  in  a  most  discouraging  state 
of  confusion.  Putting  on  a  big  apron,  she  fell  to 
work,  and  got  the  dishes  piled  up  ready  for  washing, 
when  she  discovered  that  the  fire  was  out. 

"  Here's  a  sweet  prospect !  "  muttered  Jo,  slamming 
the  stove  door  open,  and  poking  vigorously  among  the 
cinders. 


^Experiments,  167 

Having  rekindled  it,  she  thought  she  would  go  to 
market  while  the  water  heated.  The  walk  revived 
her  spirits ;  and,  flattering  herself  that  she  had  made 
good  bargains,  she  trudged  home  again,  after  buying 
a  very  young  lobster,  some  very  old  asparagus,  and 
two  boxes  of  acid  strawberries.  By  the  time  she  got 
cleared  up,  the  dinner  arrived,  and  the  stove  was  red- 
hot.  Hannah  had  left  a  pan  of  bread  to  rise,  Meg  had 
worked  it  up  early,  set  it  on  the  hearth  for  a  second 
rising,  and  forgotten  it.  Meg  was  entertaining  Sallie 
Gardiner,  in  the  parlor,  when  the  door  flew  open,  and 
a  floury,  crocky,  flushed  and  dishevelled  figure  ap- 
peared, demanding,  tartly,  — 

"  I  say,  isn't  bread  '  riz '  enough  when  it  runs  over 
the  pans  }  " 

Sallie  began  to  laugh ;  but  Meg  nodded,  and  lifted 
her  eyebrows  as  high  as  they  would  go,  which  caused 
the  apparition  to  vanish,  and  put  the  sour  bread  into 
the  oven  without  further  delay.  Mrs.  March  went  out, 
after  peeping  here  and  there  to  see  how  matters  went, 
also  saying  a  word  of  comfort  to  Beth,  who  sat  making 
a  winding-sheet,  while  the  dear  departed  lay  in  state 
in  the  domino-box.  A  strange  sense  of  helplessness 
fell  upon  the  girls  as  the  gray  bonnet  vanished  round 
the  corner  ;  and  despair  seized  them,  when,  a  few  min- 
utes later.  Miss  Crocker  appeared,  and  said  she'd  come 
to  dinner.  Now  this  lady  was  a  thin,  yellow  spinster, 
with  a  sharp  nose,  and  inquisitive  eyes,  who  saw 
everything,  and  gossiped  about  all  she  saw.  They 
disliked  her,  but  had  been  taught  to  be  kind  to  her, 
simply  because  she  was  old  and  poor,  and  had  few 
friends.     So  Meg  gave  her  the  easy-chair,  and  tried  to 


i68  Little  Women. 

entertain  her,  while  she  asked  questions,  criticised 
everything,  and  told  stories  of  the  people  whom  she 
knew. 

Language  cannot  describe  the  anxieties,  experi- 
ences, and  exertions  which  Jo  underwent  that  morn- 
ing ;  and  the  dinner  she  served  up  became  a  standing 
joke.  Fearing  to  ask  any  more  advice,  she  did  her 
best  alone,  and  discovered  that  something  more  than 
energy  and  good-will  is  necessary  to  make  a  cook. 
She  boiled  the  asparagus  hard  for  an  hour,  and  was 
grieved  to  find  the  heads  cooked  off,  and  the  stalks 
harder  than  ever.  The  bread  burnt  black ;  for  the 
salad  dressing  so  aggravated  her,  that  she  let  every- 
thing else  go,  till  she  had  convinced  herself  that  she 
could  not  make  it  fit  to  eat.  The  lobster  was  a 
scarlet  mystery  to  her,  but  she  hammered  and  poked, 
till  it  was  unshelled,  and  its  meagre  proportions  con- 
cealed in  a  grove  of  lettuce-leaves.  The  potatoes  bad 
to  be  hurried,  not  to  keep  the  asparagus  waiting,  and 
were  not  done  at  last.  The  blanc-mange  was  lumpy, 
and  the  strawberries  not  as  ripe  as  they  looked, 
having  been  skilfully  "  deaconed." 

"  Well,  they  can  eat  beef,  and  bread  and  butter,  if 
they  are  hungry  ;  only  it's  mortifying  to  have  to  spend 
your  whole  morning  for  nothing,"  thought  Jo,  as  she 
rang  the  bell  half  an  hour  later  than  usual,  and  stood 
hot,  tired,  and  dispirited,  surveying  the  feast  spread 
for  Laurie,  accustomed  to  all  sorts  of  elegance,  and 
Miss  Crocker,  whose  curious  eyes  would  mark  all 
failures,  and  whose  tattling  tongue  would  report  them 
far  and  wide. 

Poor  Jo  would  gladly  have  gone  under  the  table,  as 


JSxperiments,  i6g 

one  thing  after  another  was  tasted  and  left;  while 
Amy  giggled,  Meg  looked  distressed,  Miss  Crocker 
pursed  xip  her  lips,  and  Laurie  talked  and  laughed 
with  all  his  might,  to  give  a  cheerful  tone  to  the  fes- 
tive scene.  Jo's  one  strong  point  was  the  fruit,  for 
she  had  sugared  it  well,  and  had  a  pitcher  of  rich 
cream  to  eat  with  it.  Her  hot  cheeks  cooled  a  trifle, 
and  she  drew  a  long  breath,  as  the  pretty  glass  plates 
went  round,  and  every  one  looked  graciously  at  the 
little  rosy  islands  floating  in  a  sea  of  cream.  Miss 
Crocker  tasted  first,  made  a  wry  face,  and  drank  some 
water  hastily.  Jo,  who  had  refused,  thinking  there 
might  not  be  enough,  for  they  dwindled  sadly  after 
the  picking  over,  glanced  at  Laurie,  but  he  was 
eating  away .  manfully,  though  there  was  a  slight 
pucker  about  his  mouth,  and  he  kept  his  eye  fixed  on 
his  plate.  Amy,  who  was  fond  of  delicate  fare,  took 
a  heaping  spoonful,  choked,  hid  her  face  in  her  nap- 
kin, and  left  the  table  precipitately. 

"  Oh,  what  is  it.'' "  exclaimed  Jo,  trembling. 

"  Salt  instead  of  sugar,  and  the  cream  is  sour,"  re- 
plied Meg,  with  a  tragic  gesture. 

Jo  uttered  a  groan,  and  fell  back  in  her  chair; 
remembering  that  she  had  given  a  last  hasty  powder- 
ing to  the  berries  out  of  one  of  the  two  boxes  on  the 
kitchen  table,  and  had  neglected  to  put  the  milk  in 
the  refrigerator.  She  turned  scarlet,  and  was  on  the 
verge  of  crying,  when  she  met  Laurie's  eyes,  which 
would  look  merry  in  spite  of  his  heroic  eflbrts ;  the 
comical  side  of  the  affair  suddenly  struck  her,  and 
she  laughed  till  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks.  So 
did  every  one  else,  even  "  Croaker,"  as  the  girls  called 


lyo  Little  Wo?nen. 

the  old  lady  ;  and  the  unfortunate  dinner  ended  gaily, 
with  bread  and  butter,  olives  and  fun. 

"  I  -haven't  strength  of  mind  enough  to  clear  up 
now^,  so  w^e  will  sober  ourselves  with  a  funeral,"  said 
Jo,  as  they  rose  ;  and  Miss  Crocker  made  ready  to  go, 
being  eager  to  tell  the  new  story  at  another  friend's 
dinner-table. 

They  did  sober  themselves,  for  Beth's  sake  ;  Laurie 
dug  a  grave  under  the  ferns  in  the  grove,  little  Pip 
was  laid  in,  with  many  tears,  by  his  tender-hearted 
mistress,  and  covered  with  moss,  while  a  wreath  of 
violets  and  chickweed  was  hung  on  the  stone  which 
bore  his  epitaph,  composed  by  Jo,  while  she  struggled 
with  the  dinner  :  — 

"  Here  lies  Pip  March, 

Who  died  the  7th  of  June; 
Loved  and  lamented  sore, 
And  not  forgotten  soon." 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  ceremonies,  Beth  retired 
to  her  room,  overcome  with  emotion  and  lobster ; 
but  there  was  no  place  of  repose,  for  the  beds  were 
not  made,  and  she  found  her  grief  much  assuaged  by 
beating  up  pillows  and  putting  things  in  order.  Meg 
helped  Jo  clear  away  the  remains  of  the  feast,  which 
took  half  the  afternoon,  and  left  them  so  tired  that 
they  agreed  to  be  contented  with  tea  and  toast  for 
supper.  Laurie  took  Amy  to  drive,  which  was  a 
deed  of  charity,  for  the  sour  cream  seemed  to  have 
had  a  bad  effect  upon  her  temper.  Mrs.  March  came 
home  to  find  the  three  older  girls  hard  at  work  in  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon ;   and  a  glance  at  the   closet 


Experiments,  171 

gave  her  an  idea  of  the  success  of  one  part  of  the 
experiment. 

Before  the  housewives  could  rest,  several  people 
called,  and  there  was  a  scramble  to  get  ready  to  see 
them  ;  then  tea  must  be  got,  errands  done  ;  and  one  pr 
two  bits  of  sewing  were  necessary,  but  neglected  till 
the  last  minute.  As  twilight  fell,  dewy  and  still,  one 
by  one  they  gathered  in  the  porch  where  the  June 
roses  were  budding  beautifully,  and  each  groaned  or 
sighed  as  she  sat  down,  as  if  tired  or  troubled. 

"  What  a  dreadful  day  this  has  been ! "  begun  Jo, 
usually  the  first  to  speak. 

"  It  has  seemed  shorter  than  usual,  but  so  uncom- 
fortable," said  Meg. 

''Not  a  bit  like  home,"  added  Amy. 

"  It  can't  seem  so  without  Marmee  and  little  Pip," 
sighed  Beth,  glancing,  with  full  eyes,  at  the  empty 
cage  above  her  head. 

"  Here's  mother,  dear,  and  you  shall  have  another 
bird  to-morrow,  if  you  want  it." 

As  she  spoke,  Mrs.  March  came  and  took  her  place 
among  them,  looking  as  if  her  holiday  had  not  been 
much  pleasanter  than  theirs. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  with  your  experiment,  girls,  or 
do  you  want  another  week  of  it?"  she  asked,  as  Beth 
nestled  up  to  her,  and  the  rest  turned  toward  her  with 
brightening  faces,  as  flowers  turn  toward  the  sun. 

"  I  don't !  "  cried  Jo,  decidedly. 

"  Nor  I,"  echoed  the  others. 

"  You  think,  then,  that  it  is  better  to  have  a  few 
duties,  and  live  a  little  for  others,  do  you  }  " 

"  Lounging  and  larking   don't   pay,"  observed  Jo, 


172  Little  Women, 

shaking  her  head.  "  I'm  tired  of  it,  and  mean  to  go 
to  work  at  something  right  off." 

"  Suppose  you  learn  plain  cooking  ;  that's  a  useful 
accomplishment,  which  no  woman  should  be  with- 
out," said  Mrs.  March,  laughing  audibly  at  the  recol- 
lection of  Jo's  dinner-party ;  for  she  had  met  Miss 
Crocker,  and  heard  her  account  of  it. 

"  Mother!  did  you  go  away  and  let  everything  be, 
just  to  see  how  we'd  get  on } "  cried  Meg,  who  had 
had  suspicions  all  day. 

"Yes ;  I  wanted  you  to  see  how  the  comfort  of  all 
depends  on  each  doing  their  share  faithfully.  While 
Hannah  and  I  did  your  work,  you  got  on  pretty  well, 
though  I  don't  think  you  were  very  happy  or  amiable  ; 
so  I  thought,  as  a  little  lesson,  I  would  show  you 
what  happens  when  every  one  thinks  only  of  herself. 
Don't  you  feel  that  it  is  pleasanter  to  help  one  another, 
to  have  daily  duties  which  make  leisure  sweet  when  it 
comes,  and  to  bear  or  forbear,  that  home  may  be  com- 
fortable and  lovely  to  us  all }  " 

"  We  do,  mother,  we  do  !  "  cried  the  girls. 

"  Then  let  me  advise  you  to  take  up  your  little  bur- 
dens again  ;  for  though  they  seem  heavy  sometimes,  they 
are  good  for  us,  and  lighten  as  we  learn  to  carry  them. 
Work  is  wholesome,  and  there  is  plenty  for  every  one  ; 
it  keeps  us  from  e7tnui?c[vdi  mischief;  is  good  for  health 
and  spirits,  and  gives  us  a  sense  of  power  and  inde- 
pendence better  than  money  or  fashion." 

"  We'll  work  like  bees,  and  love  it  too ;  see  if  we 
don't!"  said  Jo.  "I'll  learn  plain  cooking  for  my 
holiday  task ;  and  the  next  dinner-party  I  have  shall 
be  a  success." 


Experiments,  173 

"I'll,  make  the  set  of  shirts  for  father,  instead  of 
letting  you  do  it,  Marmee.  I  can  and  I  will,  though 
I'm  not  fond  of  sewing ;  that  will  be  better  than 
fussing  over  my  own  things,  which  are  plenty  nice 
enough  as  they  are,"  said  Meg. 

"  I'll  do  my  lessons  every  day,  and  not  spend  so 
much  time  with  my  music  and  dolls.  I  am  a  stupid 
thing,  and  ought  to  be  studying,  not  playing,"  was 
Beth's  resolution  ;  while  Amy  followed  their  example, 
by  heroically  declaring,  "  I  shall  learn  to  make  button- 
holes, and  attend  to  my  parts  of  speech." 

"  Ver}^  good  !  then  I  am  quite  satisfied  with  the 
experiment,  and  fancy  that  w^e  shall  not  have  to  repeat 
it ;  only  don't  go  to  the  other  extreme,  and  delve  like 
slaves.  Have  regular  hours  for  work  and  play  ;  make 
each  day  both  useful  and  pleasant,  and  prove  that  you 
understand  the  worth  of  time  by  employing  it  well. 
Then  youth  will  be  delightful,  old  age  will  bring  few 
regrets,  and  life  become  a  beautiful  success,  in  spite 
of  poverty." 

"  We'll  remember,  mother !  "  and  they  did. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


CAMP     LAURENCE, 


BETH  was  post-mistress,  for,  being  most  at  home, 
she  could  attend  to  it  regularly,  and  dearly 
liked  the  daily  task  of  unlocking  the  little  door 
and  distributing  the  mail.  One  July  day  she  came  in 
with  her  hands  full,  and  went  about  the  house  leav- 
ing letters  and  parcels,  like  the  penny  post. 

"  Here's  your  posy,  mother !  Laurie  never  forgets 
that,"  she  said,  putting  the  fresh  nosegay  in  the  vase 
that  stood  in  "  Marmee's  corner,"  and  was  kept  sup- 
plied by  the  affectionate  boy. 

"  Miss  Meg  March,  one  letter,  and  a  glove,"  con- 
tinued Beth,  delivering  the  articles  to  her  sister,  who 
sat  near  her  mother,  stitching  wristbands. 

"  Why,  I  left  a  pair  over  there,  and  here  is  only 
one,"  said  Meg,  looking  at  the  gray  cotton  glove. 

"Didn't  you  drop  the  other  in  the  garden?" 

"  No,  I'm  sure  I  didn't ;  for  there  was  only  one  in 
the  office." 

"  I  hate  to  have  odd  gloves  !  Never  mind,  the  other 
may  be  found.  My  letter  is  only  a  translation  of  the 
174 


Camp  Laurence,  175 

German  song  I  wanted ;  I   guess  Mr.  Brooke  did  it, 
for  this  isn't  Laurie's  writing." 

Mrs.  March  glanced  at  Meg,  who  was  looking  very 
pretty  in  her  gingham  morning-gown,  with  the  little 
curls  blowing  about  her  forehead,  and  very  womanly, 
as  she  sat  sewing  at  her  little  work-table,  full  of  tidy 
white  rolls ;  so,  unconscious  of  the  thought  in  her 
mother's  mind,  she  sewed  and  sung  while  her  fingers 
flew,  and  her  mind  was  busied  with  girlish  fancies  as 
innocent  and  fresh  as  the  pansies  in  her  belt,  that  Mrs. 
March  smiled,  and  was  satisfied. 

"  Two  letters  for  Doctor  Jo,  a  book,  and  a  funny  old 
hat,  which  covered  the  whole  post-office,  stuck  out- 
side," said  Beth,  laughing,  as  she  went  into  the  study, 
where  Jo  sat  writing. 

"What  a  sly  fellow  Laurie  is!  I  said  I  wished 
bigger  hats  were  the  fashion,  because  I  burn  my  face 
every  hot  day.  He  said,  '  Why  mind  the  fashion  ? 
wear  a  big  hat,  and  be  comfortable  ! '  I  said  I  would, 
if  I  had  one,  and  he  has  sent  me  this,  to  try  me  ;  I'll 
wear  it,  for  fun,  and  show  him  I  donH  care  for  the 
fashion  ; "  and,  hanging  the  antique  broad-brim  on  a 
bust  of  Plato,  Jo  read  her  letters. 

One  from  her  mother  made  her  cheeks  glow,  and 
her  eyes  fill,  for  it  said  to  her, — 

•'  My  dear  : 

"  I  write  a  little  word  to  tell  you  with  how  much 
satisfaction  I  watch  your  efforts  to  control  your  tem- 
per. You  say  nothing  about  your  trials,  failures,  or 
successes,  and  think,  perhaps,  that  no  one  sees  them 
but  the  Friend  whose  help  you  daily  ask,  if  I  may 


176  L  it  tie   Wo  731  e  n . 

trust  the  well-worn  cover  of  your  guide-book,  /,  too, 
have  seen  them  all,  and  heartily  believe  in  the  sincerity 
of  your  resolution,  since  it  begins  to  bear  fruit.  Go 
on,  dear,  patiently  and  bravely,  and  always  believe 
that  no  one  sympathizes  more  tenderly  with  you  than 
your  loving  Mother." 

"  That  does  me  good  !  that's  worth  millions  of 
money,  and  pecks  of  praise.  Oh,  Marmee,  I  do  try ! 
I  will  keep  on  trying,  and  not  get  tired,  since  I  have 
you  to  help  me." 

Laying  her  head  on  her  arms,  Jo  wet  her  little 
romance  with  a  few  happy  tears,  for  she  Jiad  thought 
that  no  one  saw  and  appreciated  her  efforts  to  be 
good,  and  this  assurance  was  doubly  precious,  doubly 
encouraging,  because  unexpected,  and  from  the  person 
whose  commendation  she  most  valued.  Feeling 
stronger  than  ever  to  meet  and  subdue  her  Apollyon, 
she  pinned  the  note  inside  her  frock,  as  a  shield  and  a 
reminder,  lest  she  be  taken  unaware,  and  proceeded 
to  open  her  other  letter,  quite  ready  for  either  good  or 
bad  news.     In  a  big,  dashing  hand,  Laurie  wrote, — 

"  Dear  Jo, 

What  ho ! 
Some  English  girls  and  boys  are  coming  to  see  me 
to-morrow,  and  I  want  to  have  a  jolly  time.  If  it's 
fine,  Tm  going  to  pitch  my  tent  in  Longmeadow,  and 
row  up  the  whole  crew  to  lunch  and  croquet ;  — have 
a  fire,  make  messes,  gypsy  fashion,  and  all  sorts  of 
larks.  They  are  nice  people,  and  like  such  things. 
Brooke  will  go,  to  keep  us  boys  steady,  and  Kate 
Vaughn  will  play  propriety  for  the  girls.     I  want  you 


Camp  Laurence,  177 

all.ro  come ;  can't  let  Beth  off,  at  any  price,  and  no- 
body shall  worry  her.  Don't  bother  about  rations,  — 
I'll  see  to  that,  and  everything  else,  —  only  do  come, 
there's  a  good  fellow ! 

"  In  a  tearing  hurry, 
Yours  ever,  Laurie." 

"  Here's  richness ! "  cried  Jo,  flying  in  to  tell  the 
news  to  Meg.  "  Of  course  we  can  go,  mother  !  it  will 
be  such  a  help  to  Laurie,  for  I  can  row,  and  Meg  see 
to  the  lunch,  and  the  children  be  useful  some  way." 

"  I  hope  the  Vaughn's  are  not  fine,  grown-up  people. 
Do  you  know  anything  about  them,  Jo?"  asked  Meg. 

"  Only  that  there  are  four  of  them.  Kate  is  older 
than  you,  Fred  and  Frank  (twins)  about  my  age,  and 
a  little  girl  (Grace),  who  is  nine  or  ten.  Laurie  knew 
them  abroad,  and  liked  the  boys ;  I  fancied,  from  the 
way  he  primmed  up  his  mouth  in  speaking  of  her, 
that  he  didn't  admire  Kate  much." 

"I'm  so  glad  my  French  print  is  clean,  it's  just  the 
thing,  and  so  becoming ! "  observed  Meg,  compla- 
cently.    "  Have  you  anything  decent,  Jo .?" 

"  Scarlet  and  gray  boating  suit,  good  enough  for 
me ;  I  shall  row  and  tramp  about,  so  I  don't  want 
any  starch  to  think  of.     You'll  come,  Betty.?" 

"  If  you  won't  let  any  of  the  boys  talk  to  me." 

"  Not  a  boy  !  " 

*'  I  like  to  please  Laurie  ;  and  I'm  not  afraid  of  Mr. 
Brooke,  he  is  so  kind ;  but  I  don't  want  to  play,  or 
sing,  or  say  anything.  I'll  work  hard,  and  not  trouble 
any  one  ;  and  you'll  take  care  of  me,  Jo,  so  I'll  go." 

"  That's  my  good  girl ;  you  do  try  to  fight  off  your 
12 


178  Little  Womeft, 

shyness,  and  I  love  you  for  it ;  fighting  faults  isn't 
easy,  as  I  know ;  and  a  cheery  word  kind  of  gives  a 
lift.  Thank  you,  mother,"  and  Jo  gave  the  thin 
cheek  a  grateful  'kiss,  more  precious  to  Mrs.  March 
than  if  it  had  given  her  back  the  rosy  roundness  of 
her  youth. 

"  I  had  a  box  of  chocolate  drops,  and  the  picture  I 
wanted  to  copy,"  said  Amy,  showing  her  mail. 

"  And  I  got  a  note  from  Mr.  Laurence,  asking  me 
to  come  over  and  play  to  him  to-night,  before  the 
lamps  are  lighted,  and  I  shall  go,"  added  Beth,  whose 
friendship  with  the  old  gentleman  prospered  finely. 

"Now  let's  fly  round,  and  do  double  duty  today,  so 
that  we  can  play  to-morrow  with  free  minds,"  said  Jo, 
preparing  to  re]f>lace  her  pen  with  a  broom. 

When  the  sun  peeped  into  the  girls'  room  early  next 
morning,  to  promise  them  a  fine  day,  he  saw  a  comical 
sight.  Each  had  made  such  preparation  for  the  fete 
as  seemed  necessary  and  proper.  Meg  had  an  extra 
row  of  little  curl  papers  across  her  forehead,  Jo  had 
copiously  anointed  her  afflicted  face  with  cold  cream, 
Beth  had  taken  Joanna  to  bed  with  her  to  atone  for 
the  approaching  separation,  and  Amy  had  capped  the 
climax  by  putting  a  clothes-pin  on  her  nose,  to  uplift 
the  offending  feature.  It  was  one  of  the  kind  artists 
use  to  hold  the  paper  on  their  drawing-boards ;  there- 
fore, quite  appropriate  and  effective  for  the  purpose  to 
which  it  was  now  put.  This  funny  spectacle  appeared 
to  amuse  the  sun,  for  he  burst  out  with  such  radiance 
that  Jo  woke  up,  and  roused  all  her  sisters  by  a  hearty 
laugh  at  Amy's  ornament. 

Sunshine    and    laughter  were   good   omens    for   a 


Camp  Laurence,  179 

pleasure  party,  and  soon  a  lively  bustle  began  in  both 
houses.  Beth,  who  was  ready  first,  kept  reporting 
what  went  on  next  door,  and  enlivened  her  sisters' 
toilets  by  frequent  telegrams  from  the  window. 

"  There  goes  the  man  with  the  tent !  I  see  Mrs. 
Barker  doing  up  the  lunch,  in  a  hamper,  and  a  great 
basket.  Now  Mr.  Laurence  is  looking  up  at  the 
sky,  and  the  weathercock ;  I  wish  he  would  go,  too  ! 
There's  Laurie  looking  like  a  sailor,  —  nice  boy  !  Oh, 
mercy  me !  here's  a  carriage  full  of  people — a  tall 
lady,  a  little  girl,  and  two  dreadful  boys.  One  is 
lame  ;  poor  thing,  he's  got  a  crutch  !  Laurie  didn't  tell 
us  that.  Be  quick,  girls  !  it's  getting  late.  Why,  there 
is  Ned  Moftat,  I  do  declare.  Look,  Meg  !  isn't  that  the 
man  who  bowed  to  you  one  day,  when  we  were  shop- 
ping?"^ 

"So  it  is ;  how  queer  that  he  should  come !  I 
thought  he  was  at  the  Mountains.  There  is  Sallie ; 
I'm  glad  she  got  back  in  time.  Am  I'all  right,  Jo?" 
cried  Meg,  in  a  flutter. 

"  A  regular  daisy  ;  hold  up  your  dress,  and  put  your 
hat  straight ;  it  looks  sentimental  tipped  that  way,  and 
will  fly  oft^  at  the  first  puft'.     Now,  then,  come  on  ! " 

"Oh,  oh,  Jo!  you  ain't  going  to  wear  that  awful 
hat.?  It's  too  absurd  !  You  shall  not  make  a  guy  of 
yourself,"  remonstrated  Meg,  as  Jo  tied  down,  with  a 
red  ribbon,  the  broad-brimmed,  old-fashioned  Leghorn 
Laurie  had  sent  for  a  joke. 

"  I  just  will,  though  !  it's  capital ;  so  shady,  light,  and 
big.  It  will  make  fun  5  and  I  don't  mind  being  a  guy, 
if  I'm  comfortable."  With  that  Jo  marched  straight 
away,  and  the  rest  followed ;  a  bright  little  band  of 


i8o  Little  Wofnen, 

sisters,  all  looking  their  best,  in  summer  suits,  with 
happy  faces,  under  the  jaunty  hat-brims. 

Laurie  ran  to  meet,  and  present  them  to  his  friends, 
in  the  most  cordial  manner.  The  lawn  was  the  recep- 
tion room,  and  for  several  minutes  a  lively  scene  was 
enacted  there.  Meg  was  grateful  to  see  that  Miss 
Kate,  though  twenty,  was  dressed  with  a  simplicity 
w^hich  American  girls  would  do  well  to  imitate  ;  and 
she  was  much  flattered  by  Mr.  Ned's  assurances  that 
he  came  especially  to  see  her.  Jo  understood  why 
Laurie  "primmed  up  his  mouth"  when  speaking  of 
Kate,  for  that  young  lady  had  a  stand-off'-don't-touch- 
me  air,  which  contrasted  strongly  with  the  free  and  easy 
demeanor  of  the  other  girls.  Beth  took  an  observa- 
tion of  the  new  boys,  and  decided  that  the  lame  one 
was  not  "  dreadful,"  but  gentle  and  feeble,  and  she 
would  be  kind  to  him,  on  that  account.  Amy  found 
Grace  a  well-mannered,  merry  little  person  ;  and,  after 
staring  dumbly  at  one  another  for  a  few  minutes,  they 
suddenly  became  very  good  friends. 

Tents,  lunch,  and  croquet  utensils  having  been  sent 
on  beforehand,  the  party  was  soon  embarked,  and  the 
two  boats  pushed  off  together,  leaving  Mr.  Laurence 
waving  his  hat  on  the  shore.  Laurie  and  Jo  rowed 
one  boat ;  Mr.  Brooke  and  Ned  the  other  ;  while  Fred 
Vaughn,  the  riotous  twin,  did  his  best  to  upset  both, 
by  paddling  about  in  a  wherry,  like  a  disturbed  water- 
bug.  Jo's  funny  hat  deserved  a  vote  of  thanks,  for  it 
was  of  general  utility ;  it  broke  the  ice  in  the  begin- 
ning, by  producing  a  laugh  ;  it  created  quite  a  refresh- 
ing breeze,  flapping  to  and  fro,  as  she  rowed,  and 
would  make  an  excellent  umbrella  for  the  whole  party, 


Camp  Laurence,  i8i 

if  a  shower  came  up,  she  said.  Kate  looked  rather 
amazed  at  Jo's  proceedings,  especially  as  she  exclaimed 
"•  Christopher  Columbus  !  "  when  she  lost  her  oar  ;  and 
Laurie  said,  "  My  dear  fellow,  did  I  hurt  you?"  when 
he  tripped  over  her  feet  in  taking  his  place.  But 
after  putting  up  her  glass  to  examine  the  queer  girl 
several  times,  Miss  Kate  decided  that  she  was  "  odd, 
but  rather  clever,"  and  smiled  upon  her  from  afar. 

Meg,  in  the  other  boat,  was  delightfully  situated,  face 
to  face  with  the  rowers,  who  both  admired  the  pros- 
pect, and  feathered  their  oars  with  uncommon  "  skill 
and  dexterity."  Mr.  Brooke  was  a  grave,  silent  young 
man,  with  handsome  brown  eyes,  and  a  pleasant 
voice.  Meg  liked  his  quiet  manners,  and  considered 
him  a  walking  encyclopaedia  of  useful  knowledge. 
He  never  talked  to  her  much  ;  but  he  looked  at  her  a 
good  deal,  and  she  felt  sure  that  he  did  not  regard  her 
with  aversion.  Ned  being  in  college,  of  course  put 
on  all  the  airs  which  Freshmen  think  it  their  bounden 
duty  to  assume ;  he  was  not  very  wise,  but  very 
good-natured  and  merry,  and,  altogether,  an  excellent 
person  to  carry  on  a  picnic.  Sallie  Gardiner  was  ab- 
sorbed in  keeping  her  white  pique  dress  clean,  and 
chattering  with  the  ubiquitous  Fred,  who  kept  Beth  in 
constant  terror  by  his  pranks. 

It  was  not  far  to  Longmeadow ;  but  the  tent  was 
pitched,  and  the  wickets  down,  by  the  time  they 
arrived.  A  pleasant  green  field,  with  three  wide- 
spreading  oaks  in  the  middle,  and  a  smooth  strip  of 
turf  for  croquet. 

"  Welcome  to  Camp  Laurence ! "  said  the  young 
host,   as   they  landed,   with   exclamations  of  delight. 


1 82  Little  Women, 

"Brooke  is  commander-in-chief;  I  am  commissary- 
general  ;  the  other  fellows  are  staff-officers ;  and  you, 
ladies,  are  company.  The  tent  is  for  your  especial 
benefit,  and  that  oak  is  your  drawing-room  ;  this  is 
the  mess-room,  and  the  tliird  is  the  camp  kitchen. 
Now  let's  have  a  game  before  it  gets  hot,  and  then 
we'll  see  about  dinner." 

Frank,  Beth,  Amy,  and  Grace,  sat  down  to  watch 
the  game  played  by  the  other  eight.  Mr.  Brooke 
chose  Meg,  Kate,  and  Fred ;  Laurie  took  Sallie,  Jo, 
and  Ned.  The  Englishers  played  well ;  but  the 
Americans  played  better,  and  contested  every  inch  of 
the  ground  as  strongly  as  if  the  spirit  of  '76  inspired 
them.  Jo  and  Fred  had  several  skirmishes,  and  once 
narrowly  escaped  high  words.  Jo  was  through  the 
last  wicket,  and  had  missed  the  stroke,  which  failure 
ruffled  her  a  good  deal.  Fred  was  close  behind  her, 
and  his  turn  came  before  hers ;  he  gave  a  stroke,  his 
ball  hit  the  wicket,  and  stopped  an  inch  on  the  wrong 
side.  No  one  was  very  near  ;  and,  running  up  to  ex- 
amine, he  gave  it  a  sly  nudge  with  his  toe,  which  put 
it  just  an  inch  on  the  right  side. 

''I'm  through!  now.  Miss  Jo,  I'll  settle  you,  and 
get  in  first,"  cried  the  young  gentleman,  swinging  his 
mallet  for  another  blow. 

"  You  pushed  it ;  I  saw  you ;  it's  my  turn  now," 
said  Jo,  sharply. 

'•  Upon  my  word  I  didn't  move  it  I  it  rolled  a  bit, 
perhaps,  but  that  is  allovyed  ;  so  stand  off,  please,  and 
let  me  have  a  go  at  the  stake." 

"We  don't  cheat  in  America;  hut  you  can,  if  you 
choose,"  said  Jo,  angrily. 


Camp  Laurence,  183 

*'  Yankees  are  a  deal  the  most  tricky,  everybody 
/inows.  There  you  go,"  returned  Fred,  croqueting 
her  ball  far  away.  • 

Jo  opened  her  lips  to  say  something  rude ;  but 
checked  herself  in  time,  colored  up  to  her  forehead, 
and  stood  a  minute,  hammering  down~  a  wicket  with 
all  her  might,  while  Fred  hit  the  stake,  and  declared 
himself  out,  with  much  exultation.  She  went  off  to 
get  her  ball,  and  was  a  long  time  finding  it,  among 
the  bushes ;  but  she  came  back,  looking  cool  and 
quiet,  and  waited  her  turn  patiently.  It  took  several 
strokes  to  regain  the  place  she  had  lost ;  and,  when  she 
got  there,  the  other  side  had  nearly  won,  for  Kate's 
ball  was  the  last  but  one,  and  lay  near  the  stake. 

"  By  George,  it's  all  up  with  us  !  Good-by,  Kate  ; 
Miss  Jo  owes  me  one,  so  you  are  finished,"  cried  Fred, 
excitedly,  as  they  all  drew  near  to  see  the  finish. 

"Yankees  have  a  trick  of  being  generous  to  their 
enemies,"  said  Jo,  with  a  look  that  made  the  lad 
redden,  "  especially  when  they  beat  them,"  she  added, 
as,  leaving  Kate's  ball  untouched,  she  won  the  game 
by  a  clever  stroke. 

Laurie  threw  up  his  hat ;  then  remembered  that  it 
wouldn't  do  to  exult  over  the  defeat  of  his  guests,  and 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  cheer  to  whisper  to  his 
friend,  — 

"  Good  for  you,  Jo !  he  did  cheat,  I  saw  him  ;  we 
can't  tell  him  so,  but  he  won't  do  it  again,  take  my 
word  for  it." 

Meg  drew  her  aside,  under  pretence  of  pinning  up 
a  loose  braid,  and  said,  approvingly,  — 


184  Little   Wo7nen, 

"  It  was  dreadfully  provoking  ;  but  you  kept  your 
temper,  and  I'm  so  glad,  Jo." 

"  Don't  praise  me,  Meg,  for  I  could  box  his  ears 
this  minute.  I  should  certainly  have  boiled  over,  if 
I  hadn't  stayed  among  the  nettles  till  I  got  my  rage 
under  enough  to  hold  my  tongue.  It's  simmering 
now,  so  I  hope  he'll  keep  out  of  my  way,"  returned 
Jo,  biting  her  lips,  as  she  glowered  at  Fred  from 
under  her  big  hat. 

"  Time  for  lunch,"  said  Mr.  Brooke,  looking  at  his 
watch.  "  Commisary-general,  will  you  make  the  fire, 
and  get  water,  while  Miss  March,  Miss  Sallie,  and  I 
spread  the  table.     Who  can  make  good  coffee?" 

"Jo  can,"  said  Meg,  glad  to  recommend  her  sister. 
So  Jo,  feeling  that  her  late  lessons  in  cookery  were 
to  do  her  honor,  went  to  preside  over  the  coffee-pot, 
while  the  children  collected  dry  sticks,  and  the  boys 
made  a  fire,  and  got  water  from  a  spring  near  by. 
Miss  Kate  sketched,  and  Frank  talked  to  Beth,  who 
was  making  little  mats  of  braided  rushes,  to  serve  as 
plates. 

The  commander-in-chief  and  his  aids  soon  spread 
the  table-cloth  with  an  inviting  array  of  eatables  and 
drinkables,  prettily  decorated  with  green  leaves.  Jo 
announced  that  the  cofiee  was  ready,  and  every  one 
settled  themselves  to  a  hearty  meal ;  for  youth  is  sel- 
dom dyspeptic,  and  exercise  develops  wholesome 
appetites.  A  very  merry  lunch  it  was  ;  for  everything 
seemed  fresh  and  funny,  and  frequent  peals  of  laughter 
startled  a  venerable  horse,  who  fed  near  by.  There 
was  a  pleasing  inequality  in  the  table,  which  produced 
many   mishaps   to   cuj)s   and    plates ;    acorns   dropped 


Camp  Laurence,  185 

into  the  milk,  little  black  ants  partook  of  the  refresh- 
ments without  being  invited,  and  fuzzy  caterpillars 
swung  down  from  the  tree,  to  see  what  was  going  on. 
Three  white-headed  children  peeped  over  the  fence, 
and  an  objectionable  dog  barked  at  them  from  the 
other  side  of  the  river,  with  all  his  might  and  main. 

"  There's  salt,  here,  if  you  prefer  it,"  said  Laurie, 
as  he  handed  Jo  a  saucer  of  berries. 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  prefer  spiders,"  she  replied,  fishing 
up  two  unwary  little  ones,  who  had  gone  to  a  creamy 
death.  "  How  dare  you  remind  me  of  that  horrid 
dinner-party,  when  yours  is  so  nice  in  every  way  ?  " 
added  Jo,  as  they  both  laughed,  and  ate  out  of  one 
plate,  the  china  having  run  short. 

'*  I  had  an  uncommonly  good  time  that  day,  and 
haven't  got  over  it  yet.  This  is  no  credit  to  me,  you 
know ;  I  don't  do  anything ;  it's  you,  and  Meg,  and 
Brooke,  who  make  it  go,  and  I'm  no  end  obliged  to 
you.  What  shall  we  do  when  we  can't  eat  any  more  }  " 
asked  Laurie,  feeling  that  his  trump  card  had  been 
played  when  lunch  was  over. 

'•  Have  games,  till  it's  cooler.  I  brought  '  Authors,* 
and  I  dare  say  Miss  Kate  knows  something  new  and 
nice.  Go  and  ask  her  ;  she's  company,  and  you  ought 
to  stay  with  her  more." 

"Aren't  you  company,  too?  I  thought  she'd  suit 
Brooke ;  but  he  keeps  talking  to  Meg,  and  Kate  just 
stares  at  them  through  that  ridiculous  glass  of  hers. 
I'm  going,  so  you  needn't  try  to  preach  propriety,  for 
you  can't  do  it,  Jo." 

Miss  Kate > did  know  several  new  games;  and  as 
the  girls  would    not,  :inil   tiic   bu\  s   couici    not,  eat  any 


i86  Little  Women, 

more,  they  all  adjourned  to  the  drawing-room,  to  play 
"  Rigmarole." 

"  One  person  begins  a  story,  any  nonsense  you  like, 
and  tells  as  long  as  they  please,  only  taking  care  to 
stop  short  at  some  exciting  point,  when  the  next  takes 
it  up,  and  does  the  same.  It's  very  funny,  when  well 
done,  and  makes  a  perfect  jumble  of  tragical  comical 
stuff  to  laugh  over.  Please  start  it,  Mr.  Brooke,"  said 
Kate,  with  a  commanding  gesture,  which  surprised 
Meg,  who  treated  the  tutor  with  as  much  respect  as 
any  other  gentleman. 

Lying  on  the  grass,  at  the  feet  of  the  two  young 
ladies,  Mr.  Brooke  obediently  began  the  story,  with 
the  handsome  brown  eyes  steadily  fixed  upon  the  sun-i 
shiny  river. 

'•  Once  on  a  time,  a  knight  went  out  into  the  world 
to  seek  his  fortune,  for  he  had  nothing  but  his  sword 
and  his  shield.  He  travelled  a  long  while,  nearly 
eight-and-twenty  years,  and  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  till 
he  came  to  the  palace  of  a  good  old  king,  who  had 
offered  a  reward  to  any  one  who  would  tame  and  train 
a  fine, -but  unbroken  colt,  of  which  he  was  very  fond. 
The  knight  agreed  to  try,  and  got  on  slowly,  but  surely  ; 
for  the  colt  was  a  gallant  fellow,  and  soon  learned  to 
love  his  new  master,  though  he  was  freakish  and  wild. 
Every  day,  when  he  gave  his  lessons  to  this  pet  of  the 
king's,  the  knight  rode  him  through  the  city ;  and,  as 
he  rode,  he  looked  ever^^vhere  for  a  certain  beautiful 
face,  which  he  had  seen  many  times  in  his  dreams, 
but  never  found.  One  day,  as  he  went  prancing  down 
a  quiet  street,  he  saw  at  the  window  of  a  ruinous 
castle   the    lovely  face.     He  was    delighted,   inquired 


Camp  Laurence.  187 

who  lived  in  this  old  castle,  and  was  told  that  several 
captive  princesses  were  kept  there  by  a  spell,  and 
spun  all  day  to  lay  up  money  to  buy  their  liberty. 
The  knight  wished  intensely  that  he  could  free  them  ; 
but  he  was  poor,  and  could  only  go  by  each  day, 
watching  for  the  sweet  face,  and  longing  to  see  it  out 
in  the  sunshine.  At  last,  he  resolved  to  get  into  the 
castle,  and  ask  how  he  could  help  them.  He  went 
and  knocked ;  the  great  door  flew  open,  and  he  be- 
held—" 

"A  ravishingly  lovely  lady,  who  exclaimed,  with  a 
cry  of  rapture,  '  At  last !  at  last !  '  "  continued  Kate, 
who  had  read  French  novels,  and  admired  the  style. 
"  '  'Tis  she  ! '  cried  Count  Gustave,  and  fell  at  her  feet 
in  an  ecstasy  of  joy.  '  Oh,  rise  ! '  she  said,  extending  a 
hand  of  marble  fairness.  '  Neve'r !  till  you  tell  me 
how  I  may  rescue  you,'  swore  the  knight,  still  kneel- 
ing. 'Alas,  my  cruel  fate  condemns  me  to  remain 
here  till  my  tyrant  is  destroyed.'  '  Where  is  the  vil- 
lain .'"  'In  the  mauve  salon ;  go,  brave  heart,  and 
save  me  from  despair.'  '  I  obey,  and  return  victorious 
or  dead  ! '  With  these  thrilling  words  he  rushed  away, 
and,  flinging  open  the  door  of  the  mauve  salon,  was 
about  to  enter,  when  he  received  —  " 

"  A  stunning  blow  from  the  big  Greek  lexicon, 
which  an  old  fellow  in  a  black  gown  fired  at  him," 
said  Ned.  "  Instantly  Sir  What's-his-name  recovered 
himself,  pitched  the  tyrant  out  of  the  window,  and 
turned  to  join  the  lady,  victorious,  but  with  a  bump 
on  his  brow ;  found  the  door  locked,  tore  up  the 
curtains,  make  a  rope  ladder,  got  half-way  down  when 
ladder  broke,  and  he  went  head  first  i?ito  the    moat. 


1 88  Little  Women, 

sixty  feet  below.  Could  swim  like  a  duck,  paddled 
round  the  castle  till  he  came  to  a  little  door  guarded 
by  two  stout  fellows  ;  knocked  their  heads  together 
till  they  cracked  like  a  couple  of  nuts,  then,  by  a 
trifling  exertion  of  his  prodigious  strength,  he  smashed 
in  the  door,  went  up  a  pair  of  stone  steps  covered 
with  dust  a  foot  thick,  toads  as  big  as  your  fist,  and 
spiders  that  would  frighten  you  into  hysterics,  Miss 
March.  At  the  top  of  these  steps  he  came  plump 
upon  a  sight  that  took  his  breath  away  and  chilled  his 
blood  —  " 

"  A  tall  figure,  all  in  white,  with  a  veil  over  its  face, 
and  a  lamp  in  its  wasted  hand,"  went  on  Meg.  "  It 
beckoned,  gliding  noiselessly  before  him  down  a  cor- 
ridor as  dark  and  cold  as  any  tomb.  Shadowy  effigies 
in  armor  stood  on  either  side,  a  dead  silence  reigned, 
the  lamp  burned  blue,  and  the  ghostly  figure  ever  and 
anon  turned  its  face  toward  him,  showing  the  glitter 
of  awful  eyes  through  its  white  veil.  They  reached  a 
curtained  door,  behind  which  sounded  lovely  music  ; 
he  sprang  forward  to  enter,  but  the  spectre  plucked 
him  back,  and  waved,  threateningly,  before  him  a  —  " 

''  Snuff'-box,"  said  Jo,  in  a  sepulchral  tone,  which 
convulsed  the  audience.  "  '  Thankee,'  said  the  knight, 
politely,  as  he  took  a  pinch,  and  sneezed  seven  times 
so  violently  that  his  head  fell  off*.  '  Ha  !  ha  ! '  laughed 
the  ghost ;  and,  having  peeped  through  the  keyhole  at 
the  princesses  spinning  away  for  dear  life,  the  evil 
spirit  picked  up  her  victim  and  put  him  in  a  large  tin 
box,  where  there  were  eleven  other  knights  packed 
together  without  their  heads,  like  sardines,  who  all 
rose  and  besran  to  — -"  * 


Camp  Laurence.  189 

"  Dance  a  hornpipe,"  cut  in  Fred,  as  Jo  paused  for 
breath ;  "  and,  as  they  danced,  the  rubbishy  old  castle 
turned  to  a  man-of-war  in  full  sail.  '  Up  with  the  jib, 
reef  the  tops'l  halliards,  helm  hard  a  lee,  and  man 
the  guns,*  roared  the  captain,  as  a  Portuguese  pirate 
hove  in  sight,  with  a  flag  black  as  ink  flying  from  her 
foremast.  '  Go  in  and  win  my  hearties,'  says  the  cap- 
tain ;  and  a  tremendous  fight  begun.  Of  course  the 
British  beat  —  they  always  do  ;  and,  having  taken  the 
pirate  captain  prisoner,  sailed  slap  over  the  schooner, 
whose  decks  were  piled  with  dead,  and  whose  lee- 
scuppers  ran  blood,  for  the  order  had  been  '  Cutlasses, 
and  die  hard.'  'Bosen's  mate,  take  a  bight  of  the 
flying  jib  sheet,  and  start  this  villain  if  he  don't  confess 
his  sins  double  quick,'  said  the  British  captain.  The 
Portuguese  held  his  tongue  like  a  brick,  and  Walked 
the  plank,  while  the  jolly  tars  cheered  like  mad.  But 
the  sly  dog  dived,  came  up  under  the  man-of-war, 
scuttled  her,  and  down  she  went,  with  all  sail  set, 
'  To  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  sea,  sea,'  where  —  " 

"  Oh,  gracious !  what  shall  I  say.?"  cried  Sallie,  as 
Fred  ended  his  rigmarole,  in  which  he  had  jumbled 
together,  pell-mell,  nautical  phrases  and  facts,  out  of 
one  of  his  favorite  books.  "Well,  they  went  to  the 
bottom,  and  a  nice  mermaid  welcomed  them,  but 
was  much  grieved  on  finding  the  box  of  headless 
knights,  and  kindly  pickled  them  in  brine,  hoping  to 
discover  the  mystery  about  them  ;  for,  being  a  woman, 
she  was  curious.  By  and  by  a  diver  came  down,  and 
the  mermaid  said,  '  I'll  give  you  this  box  of  pearls 
if  you  can  take  it  up ; '  for  she  wanted  to  restore  the 
poor  thing*  to  life,  and  couldn't  raise  the  heavy  load 


190  Little  Women. 

herself.  So  the  diver  hoisted  it  up,  and  was  much 
disappointed,  on  opening  it,  to  find  no  pearls.  He  left 
it  in  a  great  lonely  field,  where  it  was  found  by  a  —  " 

"  Little  goose-girl,  who  kept  a  hundred  fat  geese  in 
the  field,"  said  Amy,  when  Sallie's  invention  gave  out. 
"  The  little  girl  was  sorry  for  them,  and  asked  an  old 
woman  what  she  should  do  to  help  them.  'Your 
geese  will  tell  you,  they  know  everything,'  said  the  old 
woman.  So  she  asked  what  she  should  use  for  new 
heads,  since  the  old  ones  were  lost,  and  all  the  geese 
opened  their  hundred  mouths,  and  screamed  — " 

"  '  Cabbages  ! '  continued  Laurie,  promptly.  'Just 
the  thing,'  said  the  girl,  and  ran  to  get  twelve  fine 
ones  from  her  garden.  She  put  them  on,  the  knights 
revived  at  once,  thanked  her,  and  went  on  their  way 
rejoicing,  never  knowing  the  difierence,  for  there  were 
so  many  other  heads  like  them  in  the  world,  that  no 
one  thought  anything  of  it.  The  knight  in  whom  I'm 
interested  went  back  to  find  the  pretty  face,  and 
learned  that  the  princesses  had  spun  themselves  free, 
and  all  gone  to  be  married,  but  one.  He  was  in  a 
great  state  of  mind  at  that ;  and,  mounting  the  colt, 
who  stood  by  him  through  thick  and  thin,  rushed  to 
the  castle  to  see  which  was  left.  Peeping  over  the 
hedge,  he  saw  the  queen  of  his  affections  picking 
flowers  in  her  garden.  'Will  you  give  me  arose?' 
said  he.  '  You  must  come  and  get  it ;  I  can't  come  to 
you  ;  it  isn't  proper,'  said  she,  as  sweet  as  honey.  He 
tried  to  climb  over  the  hedge,  but  it  seemed  to  grow 
higher  and  higher  ;  then  he  tried  to  push  through,  but 
it  grew  thicker  and  thicker,  and  he  was  in  despair. 
So  he  patiently  broke  twig  after  twig,  till  1^  had  made 


Camp  Laurence.  191 

a  little  hole,  through  which  he  peeped,  saying,  im- 
ploringly, '  Let  me  '  in  !  let  me  in  ! '  But  the  pretty 
princess  did  not  seem  to  understand,  for  she  picked 
her  roses  quietly,  and  left  him  to  fight  his  way  in. 
Whether  he  did  or  not,  Frank  will  tell  you." 

"  I  can't ;  I'm  not  playing,  I  never  do,"  said  Frank, 
dismayed  at  the  sentimental  predicament  out  of  which 
he  was  to  rescue  the  absurd  couple.  Beth  had  disap- 
peared behind  Jo,  and  Grace  was  asleep. 

''  So  the  poor  knight  is  to  be  left  sticking  in  the 
hedge,  is  he?"  asked  Mr.  Brooke,  still  watching  the 
river,  and  playing  with  the  wild  rose  in^his  button-hole. 

"  I  guess  the  princess  gave  him  a  posy,  and  opened 
the  gate,  after  awhile,"  said  Laurie,  smiling  to  himself, 
as  he  threw  acorns  at  his  tutor. 

"  What  a  piece*  of  nonsense  we  have  made  !     With 
practice   we  might  do  something  quite    clever.     Do 
you    know  'Truth?'"    asked  Sallie,    after   they   had 
laughed  over  their  story. 
.  "  I  hope  so,"  said  Meg,  soberly. 

"  The  game,  I  mean?  " 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  Fred. 

"  Why,  you  pile  up  your  hands,  choose  a  number, 
and  draw  out  in  turn,  and  the  person  who  draws  at 
the  number  has  to  answer  truly  any  questions  put  by 
the  rest.     It's  great  fun." 

"  Let's  try  it,"  said  Jo,  who  liked  new  experiments. 

Miss  Kate  and  Mr.  Brooke,  Meg  and  Ned,  declined  ; 
but  Fred,  Sallie,  Jo  and  Laurie  piled  and  drew ;  and 
the  lot  fell  to  Laurie. 

"Who  are  your  heroes?"  asked  Jo. 

"  Grand^ther  and  Napoleon." 


192  Little  Women » 

"What  lady  do  you  think  prettiest?"  said  Sallie. 

"  Margaret." 

"  Which  do  you  like  best?  "  from  Fred. 

"Jo,  of  course." 

•'  What  silly  questions  you  ask ! "  and  Jo  gave  a 
disdainful  shrug  as  the  rest  laughed  at  Laurie's  matter- 
of-fact  tone. 

"  Try  again  ;  Truth  isn't  a  bad  game,"  said  Fred. 

"  It's  a  very  good  one  for  you,"  retorted  Jo,  in  a 
low  voice. 

Her  turn  came  next. 

"  What  is  yoyr  greatest  fault.? "  asked  Fred,  by  way 
of  testing  in  her  the  virtue  he  lacked  himself. 

"  A  quick  temper." 

"What  do  you  most  wish  for?"  said  Laurie. 

"A  pair  of  boot-lacings,"  returned  Jo,  guessing 
and  defeating  his  purpose. 

"  Not  a  true  answer  ;  you  must  say  what  you  really 
do  want  most." 

"  Genius  ;  don't  you  wish  you.  could  give  it  to  me, 
Laurie?  "  and  she  slyly  smiled  in  his  disappointed  face. 

"What  virtues  do  you  most  admire  in  a  man?" 
asked  Sallie. 

"  Courage  and  honesty." 

"Now  my  turn,"  said  Fred,  as  his  hand  came  last. 

"  Lef  s  give  it  to  him,"  whispered  Laurie  to  Jo,  who 
nodded,  and  asked  at  once,  — 

"  Didn't  you  cheat  at  croquet?  " 

"Well,  yes,  a  little  bit." 

"  Good  !  Didn't  you  take  your  story  out  of  '  The 
Sea  Lion?"*"  said  Laurie. 

"  Rather."  ^ 


Camp  Laurence,  193 

"Don't  you  think  the  English  nation  perfect  in 
every  respect?  "  asked  Sallie. 

"  I  should  be  ashamed  of  myself  if  I  didn't." 

"  He's  a  true  John  Bull.  Now,  Miss  Sallie,  you 
shall  have  a  chance  without  waiting  to  draw.  I'll 
harrow  up  your  feelings  first  by  asking  if  you  don't 
think  you  are  something  of  a  flirt,"  said  Laurie,  as  Jo 
nodded  to  Fred,  as  a  sign  that  peace  was  declared. 

"  You  impertinent  boy !  of  course  I'm  not,"  ex- 
claimed Sallie,  with  an  air  that  proved  the  contrary. 

"  What  do  you  hate  most? "  asked  Fred. 

"  Spiders  and  rice  pudding." 

"  What  do  you  like  best?  "  asked  Jo. 

"  Dancing  and  French  gloves." 

"  Well,  /think  Truth  is  a  very  silly  play  ;  let's  have 
a  sensible  game  of  Authors,  to  refresh  our  minds," 
proposed  Jo. 

Ned,  Frank,  and  the  little  girls  joined  in  this,  and, 
while  it  went  on,  the  three  elders  sat  apart,  talking. 
Miss  Kate  took  out  her  sketch  again,  and  Margaret 
watched  her,  while  Mr.  Brooke  lay  on  the  grass,  with 
a  book,  which  he  did  not  read. 

"  How  beautifully  you  do  it;  I  wish  I  could  draw," 
said  Meg,  with  mingled  admiration  and  regret  in  her 
voice. 

"Why  don't  you  learn?  I  should  think  you  had 
taste  and  talent  for  it,"  replied  Miss  Kate,  graciously. 

"  I  haven't  time." 

"Your  mamma  prefers  other  accomplishments,  I 
fancy.  So  did  mine  ;  but  I  proved  to  her  that  I  had 
talent,  by  taking  a  few  lessons  privately,  and  then  she 
13 


194  Little.  Women, 

was  quite  willing  I  should  go  on.  Can't  you  do  the 
same  with  your  governess?" 

"  I  have  none." 

"I  forgot;  young  ladies  in  America  go  to  school 
more  than  with  us.  Very  fine  schools  they  are,  too, 
papa  says.     You  go  to  a  private  one,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  don't  go  at  all ;  I  am  a  governess  myself." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  "  said  Miss  Kate  ;  but  she  might  as 
well  have  said,  "Dear  me,  how  dreadful ! "  for  her 
tone  implied  it,  and  something  in  her  face  made  Meg 
color,  and  wish  she  had  not  been  so  frank. 

Mr.  Brooke  looked  up,  and  said,  quickly,  "  Young 
ladies  in  America  love  independence  as  much  as  their 
ancestors  did,  and  are  admired  and  respected  for  sup- 
porting themselves." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  of  course  !  it's  very  nice  and  proper  in 
them  to  do  so.  We  have  many  most  respectable  and 
worthy  young  women,  who  do  the  same ;  and  are 
employed  by  the  nobility,  because,  being  the  daughters 
of  gentlemen,  they  are  both  well-bred  and  accom- 
plished, you  know,"  said  Miss  Kate,  in  a  patronizing 
tone,  that  hurt  Meg's  pride,  and  made  her  work  seem 
not  only  more  distasteful,  but  degrading. 

"  Did  the  German  song  suit.  Miss  March  .^ "  inquked 
Mr.  Brooke,  breaking  an  awkward  pause. 

"  Oh,  yes !  it  was  very  sweet,  and  I'm  much  obliged 
to  whoever  translated  it  for  me  ; "  and  Meg's  downcast 
face  brightened  as  she  spoke. 

"  Don't  you  read  German?"  asked  Miss  Kate,  with 
a  look  of  surprise. 

"Not  very  well.     My  father,  who   taught  me,  is 


Camp  Laurence.  195 

away,  and  1  don't  get  on  very  fast  alone,  for  I've  no 
one  to  correct  my  pronunciation." 

"  Try  a  little  nov^  ;  here  is  Schiller's  '  Mary  Stuart/ 
and  a  tutor  w^ho  loves  to  teach,"  and  Mr.  Brooke  laid 
his  book  on  her  lap,  v^ith  an  inviting  smile. 

"  It's  so  hard,  I'm  afraid  to  try,"  said  Meg,  grateful, 
but  bashful  in  the  presence  of  the  accomplished  young 
lady  beside  her. 

"  I'll  read  a  bit,  to  encourage  you  ; "  and  Miss  Kate 
read  one  of  the  most  beautiful  passages,  in  a  perfectly 
correct,  but  perfectly  expressionless,  manner. 

Mr  Brooke  made  no  comment,  as  she  returned  the 
book  to  Meg,  who  said,  innocently,  — 

"  I  thought  it  was  poetry." 

"  Some  of  it  is  ;  try  this  passage." 

There  was  a  queer  smile  about  Mr.  Brooke's  moutn, 
as  he  opened  at  poor  Mary's  lament. 

Meg,  obediently  following  the  long  grass-blade 
which  her  new  tutor  used  to  point  with,  read,  slowly 
and  timidly,  unconsciously  making  poetry  of  the  hard 
words,  by  the  soft  intonation  of  her  musical  voice. 
Down  the  page  went  the  green  guide,  and  presently, 
forgetting  her  listener  in  the  beauty  of  the  sad  scene, 
Meg  read  as  if  alone,  giving  a  little  touch  of  tragedy 
to  the  words  of  the  unhappy  queen.  If  she  had  seen 
the  brown  eyes  then,  she  would  have  stopped  short ; 
but  she  never  looked  up,  and  the  lesson  was  not  spoilt 
for  her. 

"  Very  well,  indeed ! "  said  Mr.  Brooke,  as  she 
paused,  quite  ignoring  her  many  mistakes,  and  looking 
as  if  he  did,  indeed,  "  love  to  teach." 

Miss  Kate  put  up  her  glass,  and,  having  taken  a 


796  Little  Wofnen. 

survey  of  the  little  tableau  before  her,  shut  her  sketch- 
book, saying,  with  condescension,  — 

"You've  a  nice  accent,  and,  in  time,  will  be  a  clever 
reader.  I  advise  you  to  learn,  for  German  is  a  valu- 
able accomplishment  to  teachers.  I  must  look  after 
jrace,  she  is  romping  ; "  and  Miss  Kate  strolled  away, 
id'liiig  to  herself,  with  a  shrug,  "  I  didn't  come  to 
-.hape.ro.:e  a  governess,  though  she  is  young  and 
jpretty.  What  odd  people  these  Yankees  are !  I'm 
afraid  Laurie  will  be  quite  spoilt  among  them." 

"  I  forgot  that  English  people  rather  turn  up  their 
noses  at  governesses,  and  don't  treat  them  as  we  do," 
said  Meg,  looking  after  the  retreating  figure  with  an 
annoyed  expression. 

"  Tutors,  also,  have  rather  a  hard  time  of  it  there, 
as  I  know  to  my  sorrow.  There's  no  place  like 
America  for  us  workers,  Miss  Margaret,"  and  Mr. 
Brooke  looked  so  contented  and  cheerful,  that  Meg 
was  ashamed  to  lament  her  hard  lot. 
•  "  I'm  glad  I  live  in  it,  then.  I  don't  like  my  work, 
but  I  get  a  good  deal  of  satisfaction  out  of  it,  after  all, 
so  I  won't  complain  ;  I  only  wish  I  liked  teaching  as 
you  do." 

"  I  tl.ink  you  would,  if  you  had  Laurie  for  a  pupil. 
I  shall  be  very  sorry  to  lose  him  next  year,"  said  Mr. 
Brooke,  busily  punching  holes  in  the  turf. 

"Going  to  college,  I  suppose?"  Meg's  lips  asked 
that  question,  but  Ir^r  eyes  added,  "And  what  becomes 
of  you?" 

"  Yes  ;  it's  high  time  he  went,  for  he  is  nearly  ready, 
and  as  soon  as  he  is  off  I  shall  turn  soldier." 

"I'm  glad   of  that!"   exclaimed  Meg;   "I   should 


Camp  Laurence,  197 

think  every  young  man  would  want  to  go ;  though 
it  is  hard  for  the  mothers  and  sisters,  who  stay  at 
home,"  she  added,  sorrowfully. 

"I  have  neither,  and  very  few  friends,  to  care 
whether  I  live  or  die,"  said  Mr.  Brooke,  rather  bitterly, 
as  he  absently  put  the  dead  rose  in  the  hole  he  had 
made,  and  covered  it  up,  like  a  little  grave. 

"Laurie  and  his  grandfather  would  care  a  great 
deal,  and  we  should  all  be  very  sorry  to  have  any 
harm  happen  to  you,"  said,  Meg,  heartily. 

"  Thank  you ;  that  sounds  pleasant,"  began  Mr. 
Brooke,  looking  cheerful  again  ;  but,  before  he  could 
finish  his  speech,  Ned,  mounted  on  the  old  horse, 
came  lumbering  up,  to  display  his  equestrian  skill 
before  the  young  ladies,  and  there  was  no  more  quiet 
that  day. 

"Don't  you  love  to  ride?"  asked  Grace  of  Amy,  as 
they  stood  resting,  after  a  race  round  the  field  with 
the  others,  led  by  Ned. 

"  I  dote  upon  it ;  my  sister  Meg  used  to  ride,  when 
papa  was  rich,  but  we  don't  keep  any  horses  now,  — 
except  Ellen  Tree,"  added  Amy,  laughing. 

"  Tell  me  about  Ellen  Tree  ;  is  it  a  donkey.'' "  asked 
Grace,  curiously. 

"  Why,  you  see,  Jo  is  crazy  about  horses,  and  so  am 
I,  but  we've  only  got  an  old  side-saddle,  and  no  horse. 
Out  in  our  garden  is  an  apple-tree,  that  has  a  nice 
low  branch ;  so  I,  put  the  saddle  on  it,  fixed  some 
reins  on  the  part  that  turns  up,  and  we  bounce  away 
on  Ellen  Tree  whenever  we  like." 

"How  funny!"  laughed  Grace.  "I  have  a  pony 
at  home,  and  ride  nearly  every  day  in  the  park,  with 


198  Little  Women, 

Fred  and  Kate ;  if  s  very  nice,  for  my  friends  go  too, 
and  the  Row  is  full  of  ladies  and  gentlemen." 

"  Dear,  liow  charming  !  I  hope  I  shall  go  abroad, 
some  day ;  but  I'd  rather  go  to  Rome  than  the  Row," 
said  Amy,  who  had  not  the  remotest  idea  what  the 
Row  was,  and  wouldn't  have  asked  for  the  world. 

Frank,  sitting  just  behind  the  little  girls,  -heard  what 
they  were  saying,  and  pushed  his  crutch  away  from 
him  with  an  impatient  gesture,  as  he  watched  the 
active  lads  going  through  all  sorts  of  comical  gymnas- 
tics. Beth,  who  was  collecting  the  scattered  Author- 
cards,  looked  up,  and  said,  in  her  shy  yet  friendly 
way, — 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are  tired ;  can  I  do  anything  for 
you?" 

"  Talk  to  me,  please  ;  it's  dull,  sitting  by  myself,'* 
answered  Frank,  who  had  evidently  been  used  to  be- 
ing made  much  of  at  home. 

If  he  had  asked  her  to  deliver  a  Latin  oration,  it 
would  not  have  seemed  a  more  impossible  task  to 
bashful  Beth  ;  but  there  was  no  place  to  run  to,  no  Jo 
to  hide  behind  now,  and  the  poor  boy  looked  so  wist- 
fully at  her,  that  she  bravely  resolved  to  try. 

"What  do  you  like  to  talk  about.?"  she  asked, 
fumbling  over  the  cards,  and  dropping  half  as  she 
tried  to  tie  them  up. 

"  Well,  I  like  to  hear  about  cricket,  and  boating, 
and  hunting,"  said  Frank,  who  had  not  yet  learned  to 
suit  his  amusements  to  his  strength. 

"  My  heart !  whatever  shall  I  do !  I  don't  know 
anything  about  them,"  thought  Beth ;  and,  forgetting 
the  boy's  misfortune  in  her  flurry,  she  said,  hoping  to 


Camp  Laurence,  199 

make  him  talk,  "  I  never  saw  any  hunting,  but  I  sup- 
pose you  know  all  about  it." 

"  I  did  once ;  but  I'll  never  hunt  again,  for  I  got 
hurt  leaping  a  confounded  five-barred  gate  ;  so  there's 
no  more  horses  and  hounds  for  me,"  said  Frank,  with 
a  sigh  that  made  Beth  hate  herself  for  her  innocent 
blunder. 

"  Your  deer  are  much  prettier  than  our  ugly  buffa- 
loes," she  said,  turning  to  the  prairies  for  help,  and 
feeling  glad  that  she  had  read  one  of  the  boys'  books 
in  which  Jo  delighted. 

Buffaloes 'proved  soothing  and  satisfactory;  and,  in 
her  eagerness  to  amuse  another,  Beth  forgot  herself, 
and  was  quite  unconscious  of  her  sister's  surprise  and 
delight  at  the  unusual  spectacle  of  Beth  talking  away 
to  one  of  the  dreadful  boys,  against  whom  she  had 
begged  protection. 

"Bless  her  heart!  She  pities  him,  so  she  is  good 
to  him,"  said  Jo,  beaming  at  her  from  the  croquet- 
ground. 

"  I  always  said  she  was  a  little  saint,"  added  Meg, 
as  if  there  could  be  no  further  doubt  of  it. 

"  I  haven't  heard  Frank  laugh  so  much  for  ever  so 
long,"  said  Grace  to  Amy,  as  they  sat  discussing  dolls, 
and  making  tea-sets  out  of  the  acorn-cups. 

"  My  sister  Beth  is  a  very  fastidious  girl,  when  she 
likes  to  be,"  said  Amy,  well  pleased  at  Beth's  success. 
She  meant  "  fascinating,"  but,  as  Grace  didn't  know  the 
exact  meaning  of  either  word,  "  fastidious  "  sounded 
well,  and  made  a  good  impression. 

An  impromptu  circus,  fox  and  geese,  and  an  am- 
icable game    of  croquet,   finished  the   afternoon.     At 


200  Little  Women, 

sunset  the  tent  was  struck,  hampers  packed,  wickets 
pulled  up,  boats  loaded,  and  the  whole  party  floated 
down  the  river,  singing  at  the  tops  of  their  voices. 
Ned,  getting  sentimental,  warbled  a  serenade  with  the 
pensive  refrain,  — 

"Alone,  alone,  ah  I  woe,  alone,** 

and  at  the  lines  — 

"We  each  are  young,  we  each  have  a  heart, 
Oh,  why  should  we  stand  thus  coldly  apart?'* 

\ 
he  looked  at  Meg  with  such  a  lackadaisical  expression, 
that  she  laughed  outright,  and  spoilt  his  song^ 

"  How  can  you  be  so  cruel  to  me?"  he  whispered, 
under  cover  of  a  lively  chorus ;  "  you've  kept  close  to 
that  starched-up  English  woman  all  day,  and  now-you  . 
snub  me." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to ;  but  you  looked  so  funny  I  really 
couldn't  help  it,"  replied  Meg,  passing  over  the  first 
part  of  his  reproach ;  for  it  was  quite  true  that  she 
had  shunned  him,  remembering  the  Moffat  party  and 
the  talk  after  it. 

Ned  was  offended,  and  turned  to  Sallie  for  consola- 
tion, saying  to  her,  rather  pettishly,  "There  isn't  a  bit 
of  flirt  in  that  girl,  is  there  ?  " 

"  Not  a  particle  ;  but  she's  a  dear,"  returned  Sallie, 
defending  her  friend  even  while  confessing  her  short- 
comings. 

*'  She's  not  a  stricken  deer,  any- way,"  said  Ned, 
trying  to  be  witty,  and  succeeding  as  well  as  very 
young  gentlemen  usually  do. 


Camp  Laurence,  201 

On  the  lawn  where  it  had  gathered,  the  little  party- 
separated  with  cordial  good-nights  and  good-byes,  for 
the  Vaughns  were  going  to  Canada.  As  the  four 
sisters  went  home  through  the  garden.  Miss  Kate 
looked  after  them,  saying,  without  the  patronizing 
tone  in  her  voice,  "  In  spite  of  their  demonstrative 
manners,  American  girls  are  very  nice  when  one 
knows  them." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Brooke. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


CASTLES      IN     THE     AIR, 


LAURIE  lay  luxuriously  swinging  to  and  fro  in 
his  hammock,  one  warm  September  afternoon, 
wondering  what  his  neighbors  were  about,  but 
too  lazy  to  go  and  find  out.  He  was  in  one  of  his 
moods ;  for  the  day  had  been  both  unprofitable  'and 
unsatisfactory,  and  he  was  wishing  he  could  live  it 
over  again.  The  hot  weather  made  him  indolent ; 
and  he  had  shirked  his  studies,  tried  Mr.  Brooke's 
patience  to  the  utmost,  displeased  his  grandfather  by 
practising  half  the  afternoon,  frightened  the  maid- 
servants half  out  of  their  wits,  by  mischievously 
hinting  that  one  of  his  dogs  was  going  mad,  and,  after 
high  words  with  the  stableman  about  some  fancied 
neglect  of  his  horse,  he  had  flung  himself  into  his 
hammock,  to  fume  over  the  stupidity  of  the  world  in 
general,  till  the  peace  of  the  lovely  day  quieted  him  in 
spite  of  himself.  Staring  up  into  the  green  gloom  of 
the  horse-chestnut  trees  above  him,  he  dreamed  dreams 
of  all  sorts,  and  was  just  imagining  himself  tossing 
on  the  ocean,  in  a  voyage  round  the  world,  w*hen  the 
sound  of  voices  brought  him  ashore  in  a  flash.  Peep- 
202 


Castles  in  the  Air,  203 

ing  through  the  meshes  of  the  hammock,  he  saw  the 
Marches  coming  out,  as  if  bound  on  some  expedition. 

"What  in  the  world  are  those  girls  about  now?" 
thought  Laurie,  opening  his  sleepy  eyes  to  take  a  good 
look,  for  there  was  something  rather  peculiar  in  the 
appearance  of  his  neighbors.  Each  wore  a  large, 
flapping  hat,  a  brown  linen  pouch  slung  over  one 
shoulder,  and  carried  a  long  staff;  Meg  had  a  cushion, 
Jo  a  book,  Beth  a  dipper,  and  Amy  a  portfolio.  All 
walked  quietly  through  the  garden,  out  at  the  little 
back  gate,  and  began  to  climb  the  hill  that  lay  between 
the  house  and  river. 

"  Well,  that's  cool ! "  said  Laurie  to  himself,  "  to 
have  a  picnic  and  never  ask  me.  They  can't  be  going 
in  the  boat,  for  they  haven't  got  the  key.  Perhaps 
they  forgot  it ;  I'll  take  it  to  them,  and  see  what's 
going  on." 

Though  possessed  of  half  a  dozen  hats,  it  took  him 
some  time  to  find  one ;  then  there  was  a  hunt  for  the 
key,  which  was  at  last  discovered  in  his  pocket,  so 
that  the  girls  were  quite  out  of  sight  when  he  leaped 
the  fence  and  ran  after  them.  Taking  the  shortest 
way  to  the  boat-house,  he  waited  for  them  to  appear ; 
but  no  one  came,  and  he  went  up  the  hill  to  take  an 
observation.  A  grove  of  pines  covered  one  part  of  it, 
and  from  the  heart  of  this  green  spot  came  a  clearer 
sound  than  the  soft  sigh  of  the  pines,  or  the  drowsy 
chirp  of  the  crickets. 

"  Here's  a  landscape !  "  thought  Laurie,  peeping 
through  the  bushes,  and  looking  wide  awake  and  good- 
natured  already. 

It  vjas  rather  a  pretty  little  picture ;  for  the  sisters 


204  Little  Women, 

sat  together  in  the  shady  nook,  with  sun  and  shadow 
flickering  over  them,  —  the  aromatic  wind  lifting  their 
hair  and  cooling  their  hot  cheeks,  —  and  all  the  little 
wood-people  going  on  with  their  affairs  as  if  these 
were  no  strangers,  but  old  friends.  Meg  sat  upon  her 
cushion,  sewing  daintily  with  her  white  hands,  and 
looking  as  fresh  and  sweet  as  a  rose,  in  her  pink 
dress,  among  the  green.  Beth  was  sorting  the  cones 
that  lay  thick  under  the  hemlock  near  by,  for  she 
made  pretty  things  of  them.  Amy  was  sketching  a 
group  of  ferns,  and  Jo  was  knitting  as  she  read  aloud. 
A  shadow  passed  over  the  boy's  face  a^  he  watched 
them,  feeling  that  he  ought  to  go,  because  uninvited ; 
yet  lingering,  because  home  seemed  very  lonely,  and 
this  quiet  party  in  the  woods  most  attractive  to  his 
restless  spirit.  He  stood  so  still,  that  a  squirrel,  busy 
with  its  hai*vesting,  ran  down  a  pine  close  beside 
him,  saw  him  suddenly,  and  skipped  back,  scolding  so 
shrilly  that  Beth  looked  up,  espied  the  wistful  face 
behind  the  birches,  and  beckoned  with  a  reassuring 
smile. 

"May  I  come  in,  please?  or  shall  I  be  a  bother?" 
he  asked,  advancing  slowly. 

Meg  lifted  her  eyebrows,  but  Jo  scowled  at  her  defi- 
antly, and  said,  at  once,  "  Of  course  you  may.  We 
should  have  asked  you  before,  only  we  thought  you 
wouldn't  care  for  such  a  girl's  game  as  this." 

"  I  always  like  your  games  ;  but  if  Meg  don't  want 
me,  I'll  go  away." 

"  I've  no  objection,  if  you  do  something;  it's  against 
the  rule  to  be  idle  here,"  replied  Meg,  gravely,  but 
graciously. 


Castles  in  the  Air.  205 

"  Much  obliged ;  I'll  do  anything  if  you'll  let  me 
stop  a  bit,  for  it's  as  dull  as  the  desert  of  Sahara  down 
there.  Shall  I  sew,  read,  cone,  draw,  or  do  all  at 
once  ?  Bring  on  your  bears  ;  I'm  ready,"  and  Laurie 
sat  down  with  a  submissive  expression  delightful  to 
behold. 

"  Finish  this  story  while  I  set  my  heel,"  said  Jo, 
handing  him  the  book. 

"  Yes'm,"  was  the  meek  answer,  as  he  began,  doing 
his  best  to  prove  his  gratitude  for  the  favor  of  an 
admission  into  the  "  Busy  Bee  Society." 

The  story  was  not  a  long  one,  and,  when  it  was 
finished,  he  ventured  to  ask  a  few  questions  as  a 
reward  of  merit. 

"  Please,  mum,  could  I  inquire  if  this  highly  in- 
structive and  charming  institution  is  a  new  one  ?  " 

"Would  you  tell  him?"  asked  Meg  of  her  sisters. 

"  He'll  laugh,"  said  Amy,  warningly. 

"Who  cares?"  said  Jo. 

"  I  guess  he'll  like  it,"  added  Beth. 

"  Of  course  I  shall !  I  give  you  my  word  I  won't 
laugh.     Tell  away,  Jo,  and  don't  be  afraid." 

"  The  idea  of  being  afraid  of  you  !  Well,  you  see 
we  used  to  play  '  Pilgrim's  Progress,'  and  we  have 
been  going  on  with  it  in  earnest,  all  winter  and 
summer." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Laurie,  nodding  wisely. 

"Who  told  you?"  demanded  Jo. 

"  Spirits." 

"  No,  it  was  me  ;  I  wanted  to  amuse  him  one  night 
when  you  were  all  away,  and  he  was  rather  dismal. 
He  did  like  it,  so  don't  scold,  Jo,"  said  Beth,  meekly. 


2o6  Little   Women, 

"  You  can't  keep  a  secret.  Never  mind  ;  it  sav^es 
trouble  now." 

"  Go  on,  please,"  said  Laurie,  as  Jo  became  absorbed 
in  her  work,  looking  a  trifle  displeased. 

"  Oh,  didn't  she  tell  you  about  this  new  plan  of 
ours?  Well,  we  have  tried  not  to  waste  our  holiday, 
but  each  has  had  a  task,  and  worked  at  it  with  a  will. 
The  vacation  is  nearly  over,  the  stints  are  all  done, 
and  we  are  ever  so  glad  that  we  didn't  dawdle." 

"Yes,  I  should  think  so;"  and  Laurie  thought 
regretfully  of  his  own  idle  days. 

"  Mother  likes  to  have  us  out  of  doprs  as  much  as 
possible ;  so  we  bring  our  work  here,  and  have  nice 
times.  For  the  fun  of  it  we  bring  our  things  in  these 
bags,  wear  the  old  hats,  use  poles  to  climb  the  hill, 
and  play  pilgrims,  as  we  used  to  do  years  ago.  We 
call  this  hill  the  '  Delectable  Mountain,'  for  we  can 
look  far  away  and  see  the  country  where  we  hope  to 
live  some  time." 

Jo  pointed,  and  Laurie  sat  up  to  examine ;  for 
through  an  opening  in  the  wood  one  could  look  across 
the  wide,  blue  river,  —  the  meadows  on  the  other 
side,  —  far  over  the  outskirts  of  the  great  city,  to  the 
green  hills  that  rose  to  meet  the  sky.  The  sun  was 
low,  and  the  heavens  glowed  with  the  splendor  of  an 
autumn  sunset.  Gold  and  purple  clouds  lay  on  the 
hill-tops ;  and  rising  high  into  the  ruddy  light  were 
silvery  white  peaks,  that  shone  like  the  airy  spires  of 
some  Celestial  City. 

"  How  beautiful  that  is !  "  said  Laurie,  softly,  for  he 
was  quick  to  see  and  feel  beauty  of  any  kind. 

"  It's  often  so  ;   and   we  like  to  watch  it,  for  it  is 


Castles  in  the  Air.  207 

never  the  same,  but  always  splendid,"  replied  Amy, 
wishing  she  could  paint  it. 

"Jo  talks  about  the  country  where  we  hope  to  live 
some  time  ;  the  real  country,  she  means,  with  pigs  and 
chickens,  and  haymaking.  It  would  be  nice,  but  I 
wish  the  beautiful  countiy  up  there  was  real,  and  we 
could  ever  go  to  it,"  said  Beth,  musingly. 

"  There  is  a  lovelier  country  even  than  that,  where 
we  shall  go,  by  and  by,  when  we  are  good  enough," 
answered  Meg,  with  her  sweet  voice. 

"  It  seems  so  long  to  wait,  so  hard  to  do  ;  I  want  to 
fly  away  at  once,  as  those  swallows  fly,  and  go  in  at 
that  splendid  gate." 

"You'll  get  there,  Beth,  sooner  or  later ;  no  fear  of 
that,"  said  Jo  ;  "I'm  the  one  that  will  have  to  fight  and 
work,  and  climb  and  wait,  and  maybe  never  get  in 
after  all." 

"  You'll  have  me  for  company,  if  that's  any  com- 
fort. I  shall  have  to  do  a  deal  of  travelling  before  I 
come  in  sight  of  your  Celestial  City.  If  I  arrive  late, 
you'll  say  a  good  word  for  me,  won't  you,  Beth  ?  " 

Something  in  the  boy's  face  troubled  his  little  friend  ; 
but  she  said  cheerfully,  with  her  quiet  eyes  on  the 
changing  clouds,  "  If  people  really  want  to  go,  and 
really  try  all  their  lives,  I  think  they  will  get  in  ; 
for  I  don't  believe  there  are  any  locks  on  that  door,  or 
any  guards  at  the  gate.  I  always  imagine  it  is  as  it  is 
in  the  picture,  where  the  shining  ones  stretch  out  their 
hands  to  welcome  poor  Christian  as  he  comes  up  from 
the  river." 

"Wouldn't  it   be  fun  if  all  the  castles  in  the  air 


2o8  Little  Women, 

which  we  make  could  come  true,  and  we  could  live 
in  them?"  said  Jo,  after  a  little  pause. 

"  I've  made  such  quantities  it  would  be  hard  to 
choose  which  I'd  have,"  said  Laurie,  lying  flat,  and 
throwing  cones  at  the  squirrel  who  had  betrayed 
him. 

"  You'd  have  to  take  your  favorite  one.  What  is 
it?"  asked  Meg. 

"  If  I  tell  mine,  will  you  tell  yours?" 

"  Yes,  if  the  girls  will  too." 

"  We  will.     Now,  Laurie  !  " 

"  After  I'd  seen  as  much  of  the  world  as  I  want  to, 
I'd  like  to  settle  in  Germany,  and  have  just  as  much 
music  as  I  choose.  I'm  to  be  a  famous  musician 
myself,  and  all  creation  is  to  rush  to  hfear  me  ;  and 
I'm  never  to  be  bothered  about  money  or  business,  but 
just  enjoy  myself,  and  live  for  what  I  like.  Thaf s 
my  favorite  castle.     What's  yours,  Meg?" 

Margaret  seemed  to  find  it  a  little  hard  to  tell  hers, 
and  moved  a  brake  before  her  face,  as  if  to  disperse 
imaginary  gnats,  while  she  said,  slowly,  "  I  should 
like  a  lovely  house,  full  of  all  sorts  of  luxurious  things  ; 
nice  food,  pretty  clothes,  handsome  furniture,  pleasant 
people,  and  heaps  of  money.  I  am  to  be  mistress  of 
it,  and  manage  it  as  I  like,  with  plenty  of  servants,  so 
I  never  need  work  a  bit.  How  I  should  enjoy  it !  for 
I  wouldn't  be  idle,  but  do  good,  and  make  every  one 
love  me  dearly." 

"  Wouldn't  you  have  a  master  for  your  castle  in  the 
air  }  "  asked  Laurie,  slyly. 

*'  I  said  '  pleasant  people,'  you  know ; "  and  Meg 


Castles  in  the  Air,  209 

carefully  tied  up  her  shoe  as  she  spoke,  so  that  no  one 
saw  her  face. 

"  Why  don't  you  say  you'd  have  a  splendid,  wise, 
good  husband,  and  some  angelic  little  children?  you 
know  your  castle  wouldn't  be  perfect  without,"  said 
blunt  Jo,  who  had  no  tender  fancies  yet,  and  rather 
scorned  romance,  except  in  books. 

"  You'd  have  nothing  but  horses,  inkstands,  and 
novels  in  yours,"  answered  Meg,  petulantly. 

"  Wouldn't  I,  though !  I'd  have  a  stable  full  of 
Arabian  steeds,  rooms  piled  with  books,  and  I'd  write 
out  of  a  magic  inkstand,  so  that  my  works  should  be 
as  famous  as  Laurie's  music.  I  want  to  do  some- 
thing splendid  before  I  go  into  my  castle,  —  something 
heroic,  or  wonderful,  —  that  won't  be  forgotten  after 
I'm  dead.  I  don't  know  what,  but  I'm  on  the  watch 
for  it,  and  mean  to  astonish  you  all,  some  day.  I 
think  I  shall  write  books,  and  get  rich  and  famous ; 
that  would  suit  me,  so  that  is  my  favorite  dream." 

"Mine  is  to  stay  at  home  safe  with  father  and 
mother,  and  help  take  care  of  the  family,"  said  Beth, 
contentedly. 

"  Don't  you  wish  for  anything  else?"  asked  Laurie. 

"  Since  I  had  my  little  piano  I  am  perfectly  satisfied. 
I  only  wish  we  may  all  keep  well,  and  be  together ; 
nothing  else." 

"  I  have  lots  of  w^ishes  ;  but  the  pet  one  is  to  be  an 
artist,  and  go  to  Rome,  and  do  fine  pictures,  and  be 
the  best  artist  in  the  whole  world,"  was  Amy's  modest 
desire. 

"We're  an  ambitious  set,  aren't  we?  Every  one 
of  us,  but  Beth,  wants  to  be  rich  and  famous,  and 
H 


2IO  Little  Women. 

gorgeous  in  every  respect.  I  do  wonder  if  any  of  us 
will  ever  get  our  wishes,"  said  Laurie,  chewing  grass, 
like  a  meditative  calf. 

"  Fve  got  the  key  to  my  castle  in  the  air ;  but 
whether  I  can  unlock  the  door,  remains  to  be  seen," 
observed  Jo,  mysteriously. 

•'I've  got  the  key  to  mine,  but  Fm  not  allowed  to 
try  it.  Hang  college ! "  muttered  Laurie,  with  an 
impatient  sigh. 

"  Here's  mine  ! "  and  Amy  waved  her  pencil. 

"I  haven't  got  any,"  said  Meg,  forlornly. 

"Yes  you  have,"  said  Laurie,  at  once. 

"Where?" 

"  In  your  face." 

"  Nonsense  ;  that's  of  no  use." 

"  Wait  and  see  if  it  doesn't  bring  you  something 
worth  having,"  replied  the  boy,  laughing  at  the 
thought  of  a  charming  little  secret  which  he  fancied 
he  knew. 

Meg  colored  behind  the  brake,  but  asked  no  ques- 
tions, and  looked  across  the  river  with  the  same 
expectant  expression  which  Mr.  Brooke  had  worn 
when  he  told  the  story  of  the  knight. 

"If  we  are  all  alive  ten  years  hence,  let's  meet,  and 
see  how  many  of  us  have  got  our  wishes,  or  how 
much  nearer  we  are  them  than  now,"  said  Jo,  always 
ready  with  a  plan. 

"  Bless  me  !  how  old  I  shall  be,  —  twenty-seven  ! " 
exclaimed  Meg,  who  felt  grown  up  already,  having 
just  reached  seventeen. 

"You   and  I   shall    be   twenty-six,   Teddy;   Beth 


Castles  in  the  Air.  211 

twenty-four,  and  Amy  twenty-two  ;  what  a  venerable 
party  !  "  said  Jo. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  have  done  something  to  be  proud 
of  by  that  time  ;  but  I'm  such  a  lazy  dog,  I'm  afraid  I 
shall  '  dawdle,'  Jo." 

"  You  need  a  motive,  mother  says ;  and  when  you 
get  it,  she  is  sure  you'll  work  splendidly." 

"  Is  she }  By  Jupiter  I  will,  if  I  only  get  the 
chance  !  "  cried  Laurie,  sitting  up  with  sudden  energy. 
"  I  ought  to  be  satisfied  to  please  grandfather,  and  I 
do  try,  but  it's  working  against  the  grain,  you  see,  and 
comes  hard.  He  wants  me  to  be  an  India  merchant, 
as  he  was,  and  I'd  rather  be  shot ;  I  hate  tea,  and  silk, 
and  spices,  and  every  sort  of  rubbish  his  old  ships 
bring,  and  I  don't  care  how  soon  they  go  to  the 
bottom  when  I  own  them.  Going  to  college  ought  to 
satisfy  him,  for  if  I  give  him  four  years  he  ought  to 
let  me  oflf  from  the  business ;  but  he's  set,  and  I've  got 
to  do  just  as  he  did,  unless  I  break  away  and  please 
myself,  as  my  father  did.  If  there  was  any  one  left  to 
stay  with  the  old  gentleman,  I'd  do  it  to-morrow." 

Laurie  spoke  excitedly,  and  looked  ready  to  carry 
his  threat  into  execution  on  the  slightest  provocation  ; 
for  he  was  growing  up  very  fast,  and,  in  spite  of  his 
indolent  ways,  had  a  young  man's  hatred  of  subjec- 
tion,—  a  young  man's  restless  longing  to  try  the  world 
for  himself. 

"  I  advise  you  to  sail  away  in  one  of  your  ships,  and 
never  come  home  again  till  you  have  tried  your  own 
way,"  said  Jo,  whose  imagination  was  fired  b}^  the 
thought  of  such  a  daring  exploit,  and  whose  sympathy 
was  excited  by  what  she  called  "  Teddy's  wrongs." 


212  Little  Wo7nen. 

*'  That's  not  right,  Jo  ;  you  mustn't  talk  in  that  way, 
and  Laurie  mustn't  take  your  bad  advice.  You  should 
do  just  what  your  grandfather  wishes,  my  dear  boy," 
said  Meg,  in  her  most  maternal  tone.  "  Do  your  best 
at  college,  and,  when  he  sees  that  you  try  to  please 
liim,  I'm  sure  he  won't  be  hard  or  unjust  to  you.  As 
you  say,  there  is  no  one  else  to  stay  with  and  love  him, 
and  you'd  never  forgive  yourself  if  you  left  him  with- 
out his  permission.  Don't  be  dismal,  or  fret,  but  do 
your  duty ;  and  you'll  get  your  reward,  as  good  Mr. 
Brooke  has,  by  being  respected  and  loved." 

"What  do  you  know  about  him?"  asked  Laurie, 
grateful  for  the  good  advice,  but  objecting  to  the 
lecture,  and  glad  to  turn  the  conversatiorl  from  him- 
self, after  his  unusual  outbreak. 

"  Only  what  your  grandpa  told  mother  about  him  ; 
how  he  took  good  care  of  his  own  mother  till  she 
died,  and  wouldn't  go  abroad  as  tutor  to  some  nice 
person,  because  he  wouldn't  leave  her;  and  how  he 
provides  now  for  an  old  woman  who  nursed  his 
mother ;  and  never  tells  any  one,  but  is  just  as  gen- 
erous, and  patient,  and  good  as  he  can  be." 

"  So  he  is,  dear  old  fellow  !  "  said  Laurie,  heartily, 
as  Meg  paused,  looking  flushed  and  earnest,  with  her 
story.  "  It's  like  grandpa  to  find  out  all  about  him, 
without  letting  him  know,  and  to  tell  all  his  good- 
ness to  others,  so  that  they  might  like  him.  Brooke 
couldn't  understand  why  your  mother  was  so  kind 
to  him,  asking  him  over  with  me,  and  treating  him 
in  her  beautiful,  friendly  way.  He  thought  she  was 
just  perfect,  and  talked  about  it  for  days  and  days, 


Castles  in  the  Air,  213 

and  went  on  about  you  all,  in  flaming  style.  If  ever 
I  do  get  my  wish,  you  see  what  I'll  do  for  Brooke." 

"  Begin  to  do  something  now,  by  not  plaguing  his 
life  out,"  said  Meg,  sharply. 

"  How  do  you  know  I  do,  miss?" 

"  I  can  always  tell  by  his  face,  when  he  goes  away. 
If  you  have  been  good,  he  looks  satisfied,  and  walks 
briskly ;  if  you  have  plagued4».,him,  he's  sober,  and 
walks  slowly,  as  if  he  wanted  to  go  back  and  do  his 
work  better." 

"Well,  I  like  that!  So  you  keep  an  account  of 
my  good  and  bad  marks  in  Brooke's  face,  do  you  ?  I 
see  him  bow  and  smile  as  he  passes  your  window, 
but  I  didn't  know  you'd  got  up  a  telegraph." 

"  We  haven't ;  don't  be  angry,  and  oh,  don't  tell  him 
I  said  anything !  It  was  only  to  show  that  I  cared 
how  you  get  on,  and  what  is  said  here  is  said  in 
confidence,  you  know,"  cried  Meg,  much  alarmed  at 
the  thought  of  what  might  follow  from  her  careless 
speech. 

"  /don't  tell  tales,"  replied  Laurie,  with  his  "  high 
and  mighty"  air,  as  Jo  called  a  certain  expression 
which  he  occasionally  wore.  "  Only  if-  Brooke  is 
going  to  be  a  thermometer,  I  must  mind  and  have  fair 
weather  for  him  to  report." 

"  Please  don't  be  offended  ;  I  didn't  mean  to  preach 
or  tell  tales,  or  be  silly ;  I  only  thought  Jo  was  en- 
couraging you  in  a  feeling  which  you'd  be  sorry  for, 
by  and  by.  You  are  so  kind  to  us,  we  feel  as  if  you 
were  our  brother,  and  say  just  what  we  think  ;  forgive 
me,  I  meant  it  kindly  ! "  and  Meg  offered  her  hand  with 
a  gesture  both  affectionate  and  timid. 


214  Little  Women. 

Ashamed  of  his  momentary  pique,  Laurie  squeezed 
the  kind  little  hand,  and  said,  frankly,  "I'm  the  one  to 
be  forgiven ;  I'm  cross,  and  have  been  out  of  sorts  all 
day.  I  like  to  have  you  tell  me  my  faults,  and  be 
sisterly  ;  so  don't  mind  if  I  am  grumpy  sometimes ;  I 
thank  you  all  the  same." 

Bent  on  show^ing  that  he  was  not  offended,  he  made 
himself  as  agreeable  as  possible  ;  wound  cotton  for 
Meg,  recited  poetry  to  please  Jo,  shook  down  cones 
for  Beth,  and  helped  Amy  with  her  ferns,  —  proving 
himself  a  fit  person  to  belong  to  the  "Busy  Bee  Soci- 
ety." In  the  midst  of  an  animated  discussion  on  the 
domestic  habits  of  turtles  (one  of  which  amiable  crea- 
tures having  strolled  up  from  the  river),  the  faint 
sound  of  a  bell  warned  them  that  Hannah  had  put 
the  tea  "  to  draw,"  and  they  would  just  have  time  to 
get  home 'to  supper. 

"  May  I  come  again?"  asked  Laurie. 

"Yes,  if  you  are  good,  and  love  your  book,  as  the 
boys  in  the  primer  are  told  to  do,"  said  Meg,  smiling. 

"I'll  try." 

"  Then  you  may  come,  and  I'll  teach  you  to  knit  as 
the  Scotch-men  do  ;  there's  a  demand  for  socks  just 
now,"  added  Jo,  waving  hers,  like  a  big  blue  worsted 
banner,  as  they  parted  at  the  gate. 

That  night,  when  Beth  played  to  Mr.  Laurerfce  in 
the  twilight,  Laurie,  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the 
curtain,  listened  to  the  little  David,  whose  simple 
music  always  quieted  his  moody  spirit,  and  watched 
the  old  man,  who  sat  with  his  gray  head  on  his  hand, 
thinking  tender  thoughts  of  the  dead  child  he  had 
-loved    so    much.     Remembering  the  conversation  of 


Castles  in  the  Air,  215 

the  afternoon,  the  boy  said  to  himself,  with  the  resolve 
to  make  the  sacrifice  cheerfully,  "  I'll  let  my  castle 
go,  and  stay  with  the  dear  old  gentleman  while  he 
needs  me,  for  I  am  all  he  has." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SECRETS.   * 

JO  was  very  busy  up  in  the  garret,  for  the  October 
days  began  to  grow  chilly,  and  the.,  afternoons 
were  short.  For  two  or  three  hours  the  sun  lay 
warmly  in  at  the  high  window,  showing  Jo  seated  on 
the  old  sofa  writing  busily,  with  her  papers  spread  out 
upon  a  trunk  before  her,  while  Scrabble,  the  pet  rat, 
promenaded  the  beams  overhead,  accompanied  by  his 
oldest  son,  a  fine  young  fellow,  who  was  evidently  very- 
proud  of  his  whiskers.  Quite  absorbed  in  her  work, 
Jo  scribbled  away  till  the  last  page  was  filled,  when 
she  signed  her  name  with  a  flourish,  and  threw  down 
her  pen,  exclaiming,  — 

"  There,  I've  done  my  best !  If  this  don't  suit  I 
shall  have  to  wait  till  I  can  do  better." 

Lying  back  on  the  sofa,  she  read  the  manuscript 
carefully  through,  making  dashes  here  and  there,  and 
putting  in  many  exclamation  points,  which  looked  like 
little  balloons ;  then  she  tied  it  up  with  a  smart  red 
ribbon,  and  sat  a  minute  looking  at  it  with  a  sober,  wist- 
ful expression,  which  plainly  showed  how  earnest  her 
work  had  been.     Jo's  desk  up  here  was   an  old  tin 

216 


Secrets,  217 

kitchen,  which  hung  against  the  wall.  In  it  she  kept 
her  papers,  and  a  few  books,  safely  shut  away  from 
Scrabble,  who,  being  likewise  of  a  literary  turn,  was 
fond  of  making  a  circulating  library  of  such  books  as 
were  left  in  his  way,  by  eating  the  leaves.  From  this 
tin  receptacle  Jo  produced  another  manuscript ;  and, 
putting  both  in  her  pocket, "crept  quietly  down  stairs, 
leaving  her  friends  to  nibble  her  pens  and  taste  her  ink. 

She  put  on  her  hat  and  jacket  as  noiselessly  as  pos- 
sible, and,  going  to  the  back  entry  window,  got  out 
upon  the  roof  of  a  low  porch,  swung  herself  down  to 
the  grassy  bank,  and  took  a  roundabout  way  to  the 
road.  Once  there  she  composed  herself,  hailed  a 
passing  omnibus,  and  rolled  away  to  town,  looking 
very  merry  and  mysterious. 

If  any  one  had  been  watching  her,  he  would  have 
thought  her  movements  decidedly  peculiar ;  for,  on 
alighting,  she  went  off  at  a  great  pace  till  she  reached 
a  certain  number  in  a  certain  busy  street ;  having 
found  the  place  with  some  difficulty,  she  went  into 
the  door-way,  looked  up  the  dirty  stairs,  and,  after 
standing  stock  still  a  minute,  suddenly  dived  into  the 
street,  and  walked  away  as  rapidly  as  she  came.  This 
manoeuvre  she  repeated  several  times,  to  the  great 
amusement  of  a  black-eyed  young  gentleman  lounging 
in  the  window  of  a  building  opposite.  On  returning 
for  the  third  time,  Jo  gave  herself  a  shake,  pulled  her 
hat  over  her  eyes,  and  walked  up  the  stairs,  looking  as 
if  she  was  going  to  have  all  her  teeth  out. 

There  was  a  dentist's  sign,  among  others,  which 
adorned  the  entrance,  and,  after  staring  a  moment  at 
the  pair  of  artificial  jaws   which   slowly  opened    and 


2i8  Little  Women, 

shut  to  draw  attention  to  a  fine  set  of  teeth,  the  young 
gentleman  put  on  his  coat,  took  his  hat,  and  went  down 
to  post  himself  in  the  opposite  door-way,  saying,  with  a 
smile  and  a  shiver,  — 

"  It's  like  her  to  come  alone,  but  if  she  has  a  bad 
time  she'll  need  some  one  to  help  her  home." 

In  ten  minutes  Jo  came  running  down  stairs  with  a 
very  red  face,  and  the  general  appearance  of  a  person 
who  had  just  passed  through  a  trying  ordeal  of  some 
sort.  When  she  saw  the  young  gentleman  she  looked 
anything  but  pleased,  and  passed  him  with  a  nod ; 
but  he  followed,  asking  with  an  air  of  sympathy, — 

"  Did  you  have  a  bad  time  ?  "  *» 

"  Not  very." 

"  You  got  through  quick." 

"  Yes,  thank  goodness  ! " 

"  Why  did  you  go  alone  .'* " 

"Didn't  want  any  one  to  know." 

"You're  the  oddest  fellow  I  ever  saw.  How  many 
did  you  have  out  ? " 

Jo  looked  at  her  friend  as  if  she  did  not  understand 
him ;  then  began  to  laugh,  as  if  mightily  amused  at 
something. 

"  There  are  two  which  I  want  to  have  come  out, 
but  I  must  wait  a  week." 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?  You  are  up  to  some 
mischief,  Jo,"  said  Laurie,  looking  mystified. 

"  So  are  you.  What  were  you  doing,  sir,  up  in  that 
billiard  saloon  ?  " 

"Begging  your  pardon,  ma'am,  it  wasn't  a  billiard 
saloon,  but  a  gymnasium,  and  I  was  taking  a  lesson  in 
fencing." 


Secrets,  219 

"I'm  glad  of  that!" 

"Why?" 

"You  can  teach  me  ;  and  then,  when  we  play  Hamlet, 
you  can  be  Laertes,  and  we'll  make  a  fine  thing  of  the 
fencing  scene." 

Laurie  burst  out  with  a  hearty  boy's  laugh,  which 
made  several  passers-by  smile  in  spite  of  themselves. 

"  I'll  teach  you,  whether  we  play  Hamlet  or  not ;  it's 
grand  fun,  and  will  straighten  you  up  capitally.  But 
I  don't  believe  that  was  your  only  reason  for  saying 
'  I'm  glad,'  in  that  decided  way  ;  was  it,  now  ?  " 

"  No,  I  was  glad  you  were  not  in  the  saloon,  be- 
cause I  hope  you  never  go  to  such  places.     Do  you?" 

"Not  often." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't." 

"  It's  no  harm,  Jo,  I  have  billiards  at  home,  but  it's 
no  fun  unless  you  have  good  players  ;  so,  as  I'm  fond  of 
it,  I  come  sometimes  and  have  a  game  with  Ned  Mof- 
fat or  some  of  the  other  fellows." 

"  Oh  dear,  I'm  so  sorry,  for  you'll  get  to  liking  it 
better  and  better,  and  will  waste  time  and  money,  and 
grow  like  those  dreadful  boys.  I  did  hope  you'd  stay 
respectable,  and  be  a  satisfaction  to  your  friends,"  said 
Jo,  shaking  her  head. 

"  Can't  a  fellow  take  a  little  innocent  amusement 
now  and  then  without  losing  his  respectability.?" 
asked  Laurie,  looking  nettled. 

"  That  depends  upon  how  and  where  he  takes  it. 
I  don't  like  Ned  and  his  set,  and  wish  you'd  keep  out 
of  it.  Mother  won't  let  us  have  him  at  our  house, 
though  he  wants  to  come,  and  if  you  grow  like  him 


220  Little  Women, 

she  won't  be  willing  to  have  us  frolic  together  as  we 
do  now." 

"  Won't  she?  "  asked  Laurie,  anxiously. 

"  No,  she  can't  bear  fashionable  young  men,  and 
she'd  shut  us  all  up  in  bandboxes  rather  than  have  us 
associate  with  them." 

"  Well,  she  needn't  get  out  her  bandboxes  yet ;  I'm 
not  a  fashionable  party,  and  don't  mean  to  be  ;  but  I  do 
like  harmless  larks  now  and  then,  don't  you?" 

"  Yes,  nobody  minds  them,  so  lark  away,  but  don't 
get  wild,  will  you  ?  or  there  will  be  an  end  of  all  our 
good  times." 

"  I'll  be  a  double  distilled  saint." 

"  I  can't  bear  saints ;  just  be  a  simple,  honest,  re- 
spectable boy,  and  we'll  never  desert  you.  I  don't 
know  what  I  should  do  if  you  acted  like  Mr.  King's 
son ;  he  had  plenty  of  money,  but  didn't  know  how  to 
spend  it,  and  got  tipsy,  and  gambled,  and  ran  away, 
and  forged  his  father's  name,  I  believe,  and  was  alto- 
gether horrid." 

"'You  think  I'm  likely  to  do  the  same?  Much 
obliged." 

"No  I  don't — oh,  dear^  no!  —  but  I  hear  people 
talking  about  money  being  such  a  temptation,  and  I 
sometimes  wish  you  were  poor ;  I  shouldn't  worry 
then." 

"  Do  you  worry  about  me,  Jo  ?  " 

"  A  little,  when  you  look  moody  or  discontented,  as 
you  sometimes  do,  for  you've  got  such  a  strong  will  if 
you  once  get  started  wrong,  I'm  afraid  it  would  be 
hard  to  stop  you." 

Laurie  walked  In   silence  a  few    minutes,    and  Jo 


Secrets. 


221 


watched  him,  wishing  she  had  held  her  tongue,  for 
his  eyes  looked  angry,  though  his  lips  still  smiled  as 
if  at  her  warnings. 

"Are  you  going  to  deliver  lectures  all  the  way 
home?"  he  asked,  presently. 

"  Of  course  not ;  why? " 

'*  Because  if  you  are,  I'll  take  a  'bus ;  if  you  are 
not,  I'd  like  to  walk  with  you,  and  tell  you  something 
very  interesting." 

"  I  won't  preach  any  more,  and  I'd  like  to  hear  the 
news  immensely." 

"  Very  well,  then  ;  come  on.  It's  a  secret,  and  if  I 
tell  you,  you  must  tell  me  yours." 

"I  haven't  got  any,"  began  Jo,  but  stopped  sud- 
denly, remembering  that  she  had. 

"  You  know  you  have  ;  you  can't  hide  anything,  so 
up  and  'fess,  or  I  won't  tell,"  cried  Laurie. 

'*  Is  your  secret  a  nice  one  }  " 

•'  Oh,  isn't  it !  all  about  people  you  know,  and  such 
fun !  You  ought  to  hear  it,  and  I've  been  aching  to 
tell  this  long  time.     Come  !  you  begin." 

"You'll  not  say  anything  about  it  at  home,  will 
you  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  And  you  won't  tease  me  in  private?" 

"  I  never  tease." 

"  Yes,  you  do  ;  you  get  everything  you  want  out  of 
people.  I  don't  know  how  you  do  it,  but  you  are  a 
born  wheedler." 

"  Thank  you  ;  fire  away  !  " 

"  Well,  I've  left  two  stories  with  a  newspaper  man, 


222  Little  Women. 

and  he's  to  give  his  answer  next  week/'  whispered  Jo, 
in  her  confidant's  ear. 

"  Hurrah  for  Miss  March,  the  celebrated  American 
authoress  !  "  cried  Laurie,  throwing  up  .  his  hat  and 
catching  it  again,  to  the  great  delight  of  two  ducks, 
four  cats,  five  hens,  and  half  a  dozen  Irish  children ; 
for  they  were  out  of  the  city  now. 

"  Hush  !  it  won't  come  to  anything,  I  dare  say ;  but 
I  couldn't  rest  till  I  had  tried,  and  I  said  nothing 
about  it,  because  I  didn't  want  any  one  else  to  be 
disappointed." 

"  It  won't  fail !  Why,  Jo,  your  stories  are  works 
of  Shakespeare  compared  to  half  the  rubbish  that's 
published  every  day.  Won't  it  be  fun  to  see  them  in 
print ;  and  shan't  we  feel  proud  of  our  authoress  ?  " 

Jo's  eyes  sparkled,  for  it's  always  pleasant  to  be 
believed  in ;  and  a  friend's  praise  is  always  sweeter 
than  a  dozen  newspaper  pufts. 

"  Where's  jK<? 2^ r  secret?  Play  fair,  Teddy,  or  I'll 
never  believe  you  again,"  she  said,  trying  to  extin- 
guish the  brilliant  hopes  that  blazed  up  at  a  word  of 
encouragement. 

"  I  may  get  into  a  scrape  for  telling ;  but  I  didn't 
promise  not  to,  so  I  will,  for  I  never  feel  easy  in  my 
mind  till  I've  told  you  any  plummy  bit  of  news  I  get. 
I  know  where  Meg's  glove  is." 

"Is  that  all?"  said  Jo,  looking  disappointed,  as 
Laurie  nodded  and  twinkled,  with  a  face  full  of  mys- 
terious intelligence. 

"  It's  quite  enough  for  the  present,  as  you'll  agree 
when  I  tell  you  where  it  is." 

"  Teil,  then." 


Secrets,  223 

Laurie  bent  and  whispered  three  words  in  Jo's  ear, 
which  produced  a  comical  change.  She  stood  and 
stared  at  him  for  a  minute,  looking  both  surprised  and 
displeased,  then  walked  on,  saying  sharply,  "  How  do 
you  know  ?  " 

"  Saw  it." 

"Where.?" 

"  Pocket." 

"All  this  time?" 

"  Yes  ;  isn't  that  romantic  ?  " 

"  No,  if  s  horrid." 

"  Don't  you  like  it .? " 

"Of  course  I  don't;  it's  ridiculous;  it  won't  be 
allowed.     My  patience  !  what  would  Meg  say  ?  " 

"  You  are  not  to  tell  any  one  ;  mind  that." 

"I  didn't  promise." 

"  That  was  understood,  and  I  trusted  you." 

"  Well,  I  won't  for  the  present,  any  way  ;  but  I'm 
disgusted,  and  wish  you  hadn't  told  me." 

"  I  thought  you'd  be  pleased." 

"  At  the  idea  of  anybody  coming  to  take  Meg 
away  ?     No,  thank  you." 

"You'll  feel  better  about  it  when  somebody  comes 
to  take  you  away." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  any  one  try  it,"  cried  Jo,  fiercely. 

"  So  should  I ! "  and  Laurie  chuckled  at  the  idea. 

"  I  don't  think  secrets  agree  with  me  ;  I  feel  rumpled 
up  in  my  mind  since  you  told  me  that,"  said  Jo,  rather 
ungratefully. 

"  Race  down  this  hill  with  me,  and  you'll  be  all 
right,"  suggested  Laurie. 

No  one  was  in  sight ;   the  smooth  road  sloped  in- 


2  24  Little  Wotnen, 

vitingly  before  her,  and,  finding  the  temptation  irre- 
sistible, Jo  darted  away,  soon  leaving  hat  and  comb 
behind  her,  and  scattering  hair-pins  as  she  ran.  Lau- 
rie reached  the  goal  first,  and  was  quite  satisfied  with 
the  success  of  his  treatment ;  for  his  Atlanta  came 
panting  up  with  flying  hair,  bright  eyes,  ruddy  cheeks, 
and  no  signs  of  dissatisfaction  in  her  face. 

"  I  wish  I  was  a  horse  ;  then  I  could  run  for  miles 
in  this  splendid  air,  and  not  lose  my  breath.  It  was 
capital ;  but  see  what  a  guy  it's  made  me.  Go,  pick 
up  my  things,  like  a  cherub  as  you  are,"  said  Jo,  drop- 
ping down  under  a  maple  tree,  which  was  carpeting 
the  bank  with  crimson  leaves. 

Laurie  leisurely  departed  to  recover  the  lost  prop- 
erty, and  Jo  bundled  up  her  braids,  hoping  no  one 
would  pass  by  till  she  was  tidy  again.  But  some  one 
did  pass,  and  who  should  it  be  but  Meg,  looking  par- 
ticularly lady-like  in  her  state  and  festival  suit,  for  she 
had  been  making  calls. 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  here.?"  she 
asked,  regarding  her  dishevelled  sister  with  well-bred 
surprise. 

"  Getting  leaves,"  meekly  answered  Jo,  sorting  the 
rosy  handful  she  had  just  swept  up. 

"And  hair-pins,"  added  Laurie,  throwing  half  a 
dozen  into  Jo's  lap.  "  They  grow  on  this  road,  Meg ; 
so  do  qombs  and  brown  straw  hats." 

"You  have  been  running,  Jo;  how  could  you.f* 
When  will  you  stop  such  romping  ways?"  said  Meg, 
reprovingly,  as  she  settled  her  cuffs  and  smoothed  her 
hair,  with  which  the  wind  had  taken  liberties. 

"Never  till  I'm  stiff  and  old,  and   have  to  use  a 


Secrets,  225 

crutch.  Don*t  try  to  make  me  grow  up  before  my 
time,  Meg ;  it's  hard  enough  to  have  you  change  all 
of  a  sudden ;  let  me  be  a  little  girl  as  long  as  I  can." 

As  she  spoke,  Jo  bent  over  her  work  to  hide  the 
trembling  of  her  lips ;  for  lately  she  had  felt  that  Mar- 
garet was  fast  getting  to  be  a  woman,  and  Laurie's 
secret  made  her  dread  the  separation  which  must 
surely  come  some  time,  and  now  seemed  very  near. 
He  saw  the  trouble  in  her  face,  and  drew  Meg's 
attention  from  it  by  asking,  quickly,  "Where  have 
you  been  calling,  all  so  fine  ?  " 

"  At  the  Gardiners  ;  and  Sallie  has  been  telling  me 
all  about  Belle  Moffat's  wedding.  It  was  very  splen- 
did, and  they  have  gone  to  spend  the  winter  in  Paris ; 
just  think  how  delightful  that  must  be  !  " 

"  Do  you  envy  her,  Meg?"  said  Laurie. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  do." 

"  I'm  glad  of  it !  "  muttered  Jo,  tying  on  her  hat 
with  a  jerk. 

"Why.?"  asked  Meg,  looking  surprised. 

"  Because,  if  you  care  much  about  riches,  you  will 
never  go  and  marry  a  poor  man,"  said  Jo,  frowning  at 
Laurie,  who  was  mutely  warning  her  to  mind  what 
she  said. 

"  I  shall  never  ''go  and  marry '  any  one,"  observed 
Meg,  walking  on  with  great  dignity,  while  the  others 
followed,  laughing,  whispering,  skipping  stones,  and 
"behaving  like  children,"  as  Meg  said  to  herself, 
though  she  might  have  been  tempted  to  join  them  if 
she  had  not  had  her  best  dress  on. 

For  a  week  or  two  Jo  behaved  so  queerly,  that  her 
sisters  got  quite  bewildered.     She  rushed  to  the  door 


226  Little  Wo  111671. 

when  the  postman  rang ;  was  rude  to  Mr.  Brooke 
whenever  they  met ;  would  sit  looking  at  Meg  with  a 
woe-begone  face,  occasionally  jumping  up  to  sliake, 
and  then  to  kiss  her,  in  a  very  mysterious  manner ; 
Laurie  and  she  were  always  making  signs  to  one 
another,  and  talking  about  "  Spread  Eagles,"  till  the 
girls  declared  they  had  both  lost  their  wits.  On  the 
second  Saturday  after  Jo  got  out  of  the  window^,  Meg, 
as  she  sat  sewing  at  her  window,  was  scandalized  by 
the  sight  of  Laurie  chasing  Jo  all  over  the  garden,  and 
finally  capturing  her  in  Amy's  bower.  What  went 
on  there,  Meg  could  not  see,  but  shrieks  of  laughter 
were  heard,  followed  by  the  murmur-  of  voices,  and  a 
great  flapping  of  newspapers. 

"What  shall  we  do  with  that  girl?  She  never 
ivill  behave  like  a  young  lady,"  sighed  Meg,  as  she 
watched  the  race  with  a  disapproving  face. 

"  I  hope  she  won't ;  she  is  so  funny  and  dear  as  she 
is,"  said  Beth,  who  had  never  betrayed  that  she  w^as  a 
little  hurt  at  Jo's  having  secrets  with  any  one  but  her. 

"  It's  very  trying,  but  we  never  can  make  her  covime 
la  fo"  added  Amy,  who  sat  making  some  new  frills 
for  herself,  with  her  curls  tied  up  in  a  very  becoming 
way,  —  two  agreeable  things,  which  made  her  feel 
unusually  elegant  and  lady-like. 

In  a  few  minutes  Jo  bounced  in,  laid  herself  on  the 
sofa,  and  affected  to  read. 

"Have  you  anything  interesting  there.'*"  asked 
Meg,  with  condescension. 

"Nothing  but  a  story;  don't  amount  to  much,  I 
guess,"  returned  Jo,  carefully  keeping  the  name  of 
the  paper  out  of  sight. 


Secrets,  227 

*'  You'd  better  read  it  loud ;  that  will  amuse  us,  and 
keep  you  out  of  mischief,"  said  Amy,  in  her  most 
grown-up  tone. 

"What's  the  name?"  asked  Beth,  wondering  why 
Jo  kept  her  face  behind  the  sheet. 

"The  Rival  Painters." 

"  That  sounds  well ;  read  it,"  said  Meg. 

With  a  loud  "  hem  !  "  and  a  long  breath,  Jo  began 
to  read  very  fast.  The  girls  listened  with  interest,  for 
the  tale  was  romantic,  and  somewhat  pathetic,  as  most 
of  the  characters  died  in  the  end. 

"  I  like  that  about  the  splendid  picture,"  was  Amy's 
approving  remark,  as  Jo  paused. 

"  I  prefer  the  lovering  part.  Viola  and  Angelo  are 
two  of  our  favorite  names ;  isn't  that  queer  ? "  said 
Meg,  wiping  her  eyes,  for  the  "  lovering  part"  was 
tragical. 

"Who  wrote  it?"  asked  Beth,  who  had  caught  a 
glimpse  of  Jo's  face. 

The  reader  suddenly  sat  up,  cast  away  the  paper, 
displaying  a  flushed  countenance,  and,  with  a  funny 
mixture  of  solemnity  and  excitement,  replied  in  a  loud 
voice,  "  Your  sister  !  " 

"  You  ?  "  cried  Meg,  dropping  her  work. 

"  It's  very  good,"  said  Amy,  critically. 

"  I  knew  it !  I  knew  it !  oh,  my  Jo,  I  am  so  proud  ! " 
and  Beth  ran  to  hug  her  sister  and  exult  over  this 
splendid  success. 

Dear  me,  how  delighted  they  all  were,  to  be  sure ; 
how  Meg  wouldn't  believe  it  till  she  saw  the  words, 
"Miss  Josephine  March,"  actually  printed  in  the 
paper ;    how   graciously   Amy   criticised   the   artistic 


228  Little  Women, 

parts  of  the  story,  and  offered  hints  for  a  sequel,  which 
unfortunately  couldn't  be  carried  out,  as  the  hero  and 
heroine  were  dead  ;  how  Beth  got  excited,  and  skipped 
and  sung  with  joy  ;  how  Hannah  came  in  to  exclaim, 
"  Sakes  alive,  well  I  never  !  "  in  great  astonishment  at 
"  that  Jo's  doins  ;  "  how  proud  Mrs.  March  was  when 
she  knew  it ;  how  Jo  laughed,  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
as  she  declared  she  might  as  well  be  a  peacock  and 
done  with  it ;  and  how  the  "  Spread  Eagle  "  might  be 
said  to  flap  his  wings  triumphantly  over  the  house  of 
March,  as  the  paper  passed  from  hand  to  hand. 

"  Tell  us  about  it."  "  When  did  it  gome  ?  "  "  How 
much  did  you  get  for  it?  "  "  What  will  father  say?  " 
"Won't  Laurie  laugh?"  cried  the  family,  all  in  one 
breath,  as  they  clustered  about  Jo  ;  for  these  foolish, 
affectionate  people  made  a  jubilee  of  every  little  house- 
hold joy. 

"  Stop  jabbering,  girls,  and  I'll  tell  you  everything," 
said  Jo,  wondering  if  Miss  Burney  felt  any  grander 
over  her  "Evelina"  than  she  did  over  her  "Rival 
Painters."  Having  told  how  she  disposed  of  her 
tales,  Jo  added, —  "And  when  I  went  to  get  my 
answer  the  man  said  he  liked  them  both,  but  didn't 
pay  beginners,  only  let  them  print  in  his  paper,  and 
noticed  the  stories.  It  was  good  practice,  he  said  ; 
and,  when  the  beginners  improved,  any  one  would  pay. 
So  I  let  him  have  the  two  stories,  and  today  this  was 
sent  to  me,  and  Laurie  caught  me  with  it,  and  insisted 
on  seeing  it,  so  I  let  him  ;  and  he  said  it  was  good,  and 
I  shall  write  more,  and  he's  going  to  get  the  next  paid 
for,  and  oh  —  I  am  so  happy,  for  in  time  I  may  be 
able  to  support  myself  and  help  the  girls." 


Secrets.  229 

Jo*s  breath  gave  out  here  ;  and,  wrapping  her  head 
in  the  paper,  she  bedewed  her  little  story  with  a  few 
natural  tears  ;  for  to  be  independent,  and  earn  the  praise 
of  those  she  loved,  were  the  dearest  wishes  of  her  heart, 
and  this  seemed  to  be  the  first  step  toward  that 
happy  end. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A      TELEGRAM. 

NOVEMBER  is  the  most  disagreeable  month  in 
the  whole  year,"  said  Margaret,  standing  at 
the  window  one  dull  afternoon,  looking  out  at 
the  frost-bitten  garden. 

"  Thafs  the  reason  I  was  born  in  it,"  observed  Jo, 
pensively,  quite  unconscious  of  the  blot  on  her  nose. 

"  If  something  very  pleasant  should  happen  now, 
we  should  think  it  a  delightful  month,"  said  Beth,  who 
took  a  hopeful  view  of  everything,  even  November. 

"  I  dare  say  ;  but  nothing  pleasant  ever  does  happen 
in  this  family,"  said  Meg,  who  was  out  of  sorts.  "  We 
go  grubbing  along  day  after  day,  without  a  bit  of 
change,  and  very  little  fun.  We  might  as  well  be  in  a 
tread-mill." 

"  My  patience,  how  blue  we  are  !  "  cried  Jo.  "  I 
don't  much  wonder,  poor  dear,  for  you  see  other  girls 
having  splendid  times,  while  you  grind,  grind,  year  in 
and  year  out.  Oh,  don't  I  wish  I  could  fix  things  for 
you  as  I  do  for  my  heroines !  you're  pretty  enough 
and  good  enough  already,  so  I'd  have  some  rich  re- 
lation leave  you  a  fortune  unexpectedly ;  then  you'd 
230 


A  Telegram,  231 

dash  out  as  an  heiress,  scorn  every  one  who  has 
slighted  you,  go  abroad,  and  come  home  my  Lady 
Something,  in  a  blaze  of  splendor  and  elegance." 

"  People  don't  have  fortunes  left  them  in  that  style 
nowadays ;  men  have  to  work,  and  women  to  marry 
for  money.  It's  a  dreadfully  unjust  world,"  said  Meg, 
bitterly. 

*' Jo  and  I  are  going  to  make  fortunes  for  you  all ; 
just  wait  ten  years,  and  see  if  we  don't,"  said  Amy, 
who  sat  in  a  corner  making  "  mud  pies,"  as  Hannah 
called  her  little  clay  models  of  birds,  fruit  and  faces. 

"  Can't  wait,  and  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  much  faith  in 
ink  and  dirt,  though  I'm  grateful  for  your  good  in- 
tentions." 

Meg  sighed,  and  turned  to  the  frost-bitten  garden 
again ;  Jo  groaned,  and  leaned  both  elbows  on  the 
table  in  a  despondent  attitude,  but  Amy  spatted  away 
energetically ;  and  Beth,  who  sat  at  the  other  window, 
said,  smiling,  "  Two  pleasant  things  are  going  to  hap- 
pen right  away  ;  Marmee  is  coming  down  the  street, 
and  Laurie  is  tramping  through  the  garden  as  if  he 
had  something  nice  to  tell." 

In  they  both  came,  Mrs.  March  with  her  usual 
question,  "  Any  letter  from  father,  girls?"  and  Laurie 
to  say,  in  his  persuasive  way,  "  Won't  some  of  you 
come  for  a  drive  ?  I've  been  pegging  away  at  mathe- 
matics till  my  head  is  in  a  muddle,  and  I'm  going  to 
freshen  my  wits  by  a  brisk  turn.  It's  a  dull  day,  but 
the  air  isn't  bad,  and  I'm  going  to  take  Brooke  home, 
so  it  will  be  gay  inside,  if  it  isn't  out.  Come,  Jo,  you 
and  Beth  will  go,  won't  you .? ' 
*'  Of  course  we  will." 


232  Little  Wo?nen, 

,  "  Much  obliged,  but  I'm  busy  ;  "  and  Meg  whisked 
out  her  work-basket,  for  she  had  agreed  v/ith  her 
mother  that  it  was  best,  for  her  at  least,  not  to  drive 
often  with  the  young  gentleman. 

"  We  three  will  be  ready  in  a  minute,"  cried  Amy, 
running  away  to  wash  her  hands. 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you.  Madam  Mother.'*" 
asked  Laurie,  leaning  over  Mrs.  March's  chair,  with 
the  affectionate  look  and  tone  he  always  gave  her. 

"  No,  thank  you,  except  call  at  the  office,  if  you'll  be 
so  kind,  dear.  It's  our  day  for  a  letter,  and  the  penny 
postman  hasn't  been.  Father  is  as  regular  as  the  sun, 
but  there's  some  delay  on  the  way,  perhaps." 

A  sharp  ring  interrupted  her,  and  a  minute  after 
Hannah  came  in  with  a  letter. 

"  It's  one  of  them  horrid  telegraph  things,  mum," 
she  said,  handing  it  as  if  she  was  afraid  it  would  ex- 
plode, and  do  some  ^damage. 

At  the  word  "  telegraph,"  Mrs.  March  snatched  it, 
read  the  two  lines  it  contained,  and  dropped  back  into 
her  chair  as  white  as  if  the  little  paper  had  sent  a 
bullet  to  her  heart.  Laurie  dashed  down  stairs  for 
water,  while  Meg  and  Hannah  supported  her,  and  Jo 
read  aloud,  in  a  frightened  voice,  — 

"Mrs.  March: 

"  Your  husband  is  very  ill.     Come  at  once. 
"S.  Hale, 
•  "  Blank  Hospital,  Washington." 

How  still  the  room  was  as  they  listened  breath- 
lessly !  how  strangely  the    day  darkened  outside  !  and 


A  Telegram,  233 

how  suddenly  the  whole  world  seemed  to  change,  as 
the  girls  gathered  about  their  mother,  feeling  as  if 
all  the  happiness  and  support  of  their  lives  was  about 
to  be  taken  from  them.  Mrs.  March  was  herself 
again  directly ;  read  the  message  over,  and  stretched 
out  her  arms  to  her  daughters,  saying,  in  a  tone  they 
never  forgot,  "  I  shall  go  at  once,  but  it  may  be  too 
late  ;  oh,  children,  children  !  help  me  to  bear  it ! " 

For  several  minutes  there  was  nothing  but  the  sound 
of  sobbing  in  the  room,  mingled  with  broken  words 
of  comfort,  tender  assurances  of  help,  and  hopeful 
whispers,  that  died  away  in  tears.  Poor  Hannah  was 
the  first  to  recover,  and  with  unconscious  wisdom  she 
set  all  the  rest  a  good  example ;  for,  with  her,  work 
was  the  panacea  for  most  afflictions. 

"  The  Lord  keep  the  dear  man !  I  won't  waste  no 
time  a  cryin',  but  git  your  things  ready  right  away, 
mum,"  she  said,  heartily,  as  she  wiped  her  face  on  her 
apron,  gave  her  mistress  a  warm  shake  of  the  hand 
with  her  own  hard  one,  and  went  away  to  work,  like 
three  women  in  one. 

"  She's  right ;  there's  no  time  for  tears  now.  Be 
calm,  girls,  and  let  me  think." 

They  tried  to  be  calm,  poor  things,  as  their  mother 
sat  up,  looking  pale,  but  steady,  and  put  away  her 
grief  to  think  and  plan  for  them. 

"  Where's  Laurie  .f* "  she  asked  presently,  when  she 
had  collected  her  thoughts,  and  decided  on  the  first 
duties  to  be  done. 

"  Here,  ma'am  ;  oh,  let  me  do  something ! "  cried  the 
boy,  hurrying  from  the  next  room,  whither  he  had 


234  Little  Women, 

withdrawn,  feeling  that  their  first  sorrow  was  too 
sacred  for  even  his  friendly  eyes  to  see. 

"  Send  a  telegram  saying  I  will  come  at  once.  The 
next  train  goes  early  in  the  morning ;  I'll  take  that." 

"  What  else  ?  The  horses  are  ready  ;  I  can  go  any- 
where, —  do  anything,"  he  said,  looking  ready  to  fly 
to  the  ends  of  the  earth. 

"  Leave  a  note  at  Aunt  March's.  Jo,  give  me  that 
pen  and  paper." 

Tearing  off"  the  blank  side  of  one  of  her  newly- 
copied  pages,  Jo  drew  the  table  before  her  mother, 
well  knowing  that  money  for  the  long,  sad  journey, 
must  be  borrowed,  and  feeling  as  if  she  could  do  any- 
thing to  add  a  little  to  the  sum  for  her  father. 

"  Now  go,  dear  ;  but  don't  kill  yourself  driving  at  a 
desperate  pace  ;  there  is  no  need  of  that." 

Mrs.  March's  warning  was  evidently  thrown  away  ; 
for  five  minutes  later  Laurie  tore  by  the  window,  on 
his  own  fleet  horse,  ridipg  as  if  for  his  life. 

''Jo,  run  to  the  rooms,  and  tell  Mrs.  King  that  I 
can't  come.  On  the  way  get  these  things.  I'll  put 
them  down  ;  they'll  be  needed,  and  I  must  go  prepared 
for  nursing.  Hospital  stores  are  not  always  good. 
Beth,  go  and  ask  Mr.  Laurence  for  a  couple  of  bottles 
of  old  wine  ;  I'm  not  too  proud  to  beg  for  father  ;  he 
shall  have  the  best  of  everything.  Amy,  tell  Hannah 
to  get  down  the  black  trunk  ;  and  Meg,  come  and  help 
me  find  my  things,  for  I'm  half  bewildered." 

Writing,  thinking,  and  directing  all  at  once,  might 
well  bewilder  the  poor  lady,  and  Meg  begged  her 
to  sit  quietly  in  her  room  for  a  little  while,  and  let 
them  work.     Every  one  scattered,  like  leaves  before  a 


A  Telegra7n,  235 

gust  of  wind;  and  the  quiet,  happy  household  was 
broken  up  as  suddenly  as  if  the  paper  had  been  an 
evil  spell. 

Mr.  Laurence  came  hurrying  back  with  Beth,  bring- 
ing every  comfort  the  kind  old  gentleman  could  think 
of  for  the  invalid,  and  friendliest  promises  of  protec- 
tion for  the  girls,  during  the  mother's  absence,  which 
comforted  her  very  much.  There  was  nothing  he 
didn't  offer,  from  his  own  dressing-gown  to  himself  as 
escort.  But  that  last  was  impossible.  Mrs.  March 
would  not  hear  of  the  old  gentleman's  undertaking  the 
long  journey ;  yet  an  expression  of  relief  was  visible 
when  he  spoke  of  it,  for  anxiety  ill  fits  one  for  travel- 
ling. He  saw  the  look,  knit  his  heavy  eyebrows, 
rubbed  his  hands,  and  marched  abruptly  away,  saying 
he'd  be  back  directly.  No  one  had  time  to  think  of 
him  again  till,  as  Meg  ran  through  the  entry,  with  a 
pair  of  rubbers  in  one  hand  and  a  cup  of  tea  in  the 
other,  she  came  suddenly  upon  Mr.  Brooke. 

"  I'm  very  sorry  to  hear  of  this.  Miss  March,"  he 
said,  in  the  kind,  quiet  tone  which  sounded  very 
pleasantly  to  her  perturbed  spirit.  "  I  came  to  offer 
myself  as  escort  to  your  mother.  Mr.  Laurence  has 
commissions  for  me  in  Washington,  and  it  will  give 
me  real  satisfaction  to  be  of  service  to  her  there." 

Down  dropped  the  rubbers,  and  the  tea  was  very 
near  following,  as  Meg  put  out  her  hand,  with  a  face 
so  full  of  gratitude,  that  Mr.  Brooke  would  have  felt 
repaid  for  a  much  greater  sacrifice  than  the  trifling 
one  of  time  and  comfort,  which  he  was  about  to  make. 

"  How  kind  you  all  are  !  Mother  will  accept,  I'm 
sure ;  and  it  will  be  such  a  relief  to  know  that  she  has 


236  Little  Women. 

some  one  to  take  care  of  her.  Thank  you  very,  very 
much !  " 

Meg  spoke  earnestly,  and  forgot  herself  entirely  till 
something  in  the  brown  eyes  looking  down  at  her 
made  her  remember  the  cooling  tea,  and  lead  the  way 
into  the  parlor,  saying  she  would  call  her  mother. 

Everything  was  arranged  by  the  time  Laurie  re- 
turned with  a  note  from  Aunt  March,  enclosing  the 
desired  sum,  and  a  few  lines  repeating  what  she  had 
often  said  before,  that  she  had  always  told  them  it 
was  absurd  for  March  to  go  into  the  army,  alwayji 
predicted  that  no  good  would  come  of  it,  and  she 
hoped  they  would  take  her  advice  next  time.  Mrs. 
March  put  the  note  in  the  fire,  the  money  in  her 
purse,  and  went  on  with  her  preparations,  with  her 
lips  folded  tightly,  in  a  way  which  Jo  would  have 
understood  if  she  had  been  there. 

The  short  afternoon  wore  away ;  all  the  other 
errands  were  done,  and  Meg  and  her  mother  busy  at 
some  necessary  needle-work,  while  Beth  and  Amy  got 
tea,  and  Hannah  finished  her  ironing  with  what  she 
called  a  "  slap  and  a  bang,"  but  still  Jo  did  not  come. 
They  began  to  get  anxious ;  and  Laurie  went  off  to 
find  her,  for  no  one  ever  knew  what  freak  Jo  might 
take  into  her  head.  He  missed  her,  however,  and  she 
came  walking  in  with  a  very  queer  expression  of 
countenance,  for  there  was  a  mixture  of  fun  and  fear, 
satisfaction  and  regi-et  in  it,  which  puzzled  the  family 
as  much  as  did  the  roll  of  bills  she  laid  before  her 
mother,  saying,  with  a  little  choke  in  her  voice, 
"  That* s  my  contribution  towards  making  father  com- 
fortable, and  bringing  him  home  !  " 


A  Telegram-  237 

"  My  dear,  where  did  you  get  it !  Twenty-five 
dollars  !    Jo,  I  hope  you  haven't  done  anything  rash?" 

"  No,  it's  mine  honestly  ;  I  didn't  beg,  borrow,  nor 
steal  it.  I  earned  it ;  and  I  don't  think  you'll  blame 
me,  for  I  only  sold  what  was  my  own." 

As  she  spoke,  Jo  took  off  her  bonnet,  and  a  general 
outcry  arose,  for  all  her  abundant  hair  was  cut  short. 

"  Your  hair  !  Your  beautiful  hair  ! "  "  Oh,  Jo,  how 
could  you?  Your  one  beauty."  "My  dear  girl,  there 
was  no  need  of  this."  "  She  don't  look  like  my  Jo 
any  more,  but  I  love  her  dearly  for  it ! " 

As  every  one  exclaimed,  and  Beth  hugged  the 
cropped  head  tenderly,  Jo  assumed  an  indifferent  air, 
which  did  not  deceive  any  one  a  particle,  and  said, 
rumpling  up  the  brown  bush,  and  trying  to  look  as 
if  she  liked  it,  "It  doesn't  affect  the  fate  of  the  nation, 
so  don't  wail,  Beth.  It  will  be  good  for  my  vanity  ;  I 
was  getting  too  proud  of  my  wig.  It  will  do  my 
brains  good  to  have  that  mop  taken  off;  my  head  feels 
deliciously  light  and  cool,  and  the  barber  said  I  could 
soon  have  a  curly  crop,  which  will  be  boyish,  becom- 
ing, and  easy  to  keep  in  order.  I'm  satisfied ;  so 
please  take  the  money,  and  let's  have  supper." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,  Jo  ;  /  am  not  quite  satisfied, 
but  I  can't  blame  you,  for  I  know  how  willingly  you 
sacrificed  your  vanity,  as  you  call  it,  to  your  love. 
But,  my  dear,  it  was  not  necessary,  and  I'm  afraid 
you  will  regret  it,  one  of  these  days,"  said  Mrs.  March. 

"No  I  won't!"  returned  Jo,  stoutly,  feeling  much 
relieved  that  her  prank  was  not  entirely  condemned. 

"  What  made  you  do  it.?"  asked  Amy,  who  would 


23 8  Little  Wofjien. 

as  soon  have  thought  of  cutting  off  her  head  as  her 
pretty  hair. 

"  Well,  I  was  wild  to  do  something  for  father," 
replied  Jo,  as  they  gathered  about  the  table,  for  healthy 
young  people  can  eat  even  in  the  midst  of  trouble. 
"  I  hale  to  borrow  as  much  as  mother  does,  and  I 
knew  Aunt  March  would  croak;  she  always  does,  if 
you  ask  for  a  ninepence.  Meg  gave  all  her  quarterly 
salary  toward  the  rent,  and  I  only  got  some  clothes 
with  mine,  so  I  felt  wicked,  and  was  bound  to  have 
some  money,  if  I  sold  the  nose  off  my  face  to  get  it." 

"You  needn't  feel  wicked,  my  child,  you  had  no 
winter  things,  and  got  the  simplest,  with  your  own 
hard  earnings,"  said  Mrs.  March,  with  a  look  that 
warmed  Jo's  heart. 

"  I  hadn't  the  least  idea  of  selling  my  hair  at  first, 
but  as  I  went  along  I  kept  thinking  what  I  could  do, 
and  feeling  as  if  I'd  like  to  dive  into  some  of  the  rich 
stores  and  help  myself.  In  a  barber's  window  I  saw 
tails  of  hair  with  the  prices  marked  ;  and  one  black 
tail,  longer,  but  not  so  thick  as  mine,  was  forty  dollars. 
It  came  over  me  all  of  a  sudden  that  I  had  one  thing 
to  make  money  out  of,  and,  without  stopping  to  think, 
I  walked  in,  asked  if  they  bought  hair,  and  what  they 
would  give  for  mine." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  dared  to  do  it,"  said  Beth,  in  a 
tone  of  awe. 

"  Oh,  he  was  a  little  man  who  looked  as  if  he  merely 
lived  to  oil  his  hair.  He  rather  stared,  at  first,  as  if  he 
wasn't  used  to  having  girls  bounce  into  his  shop  and 
ask  him  to  buy  their  hair.  He  said  he  didn't  care 
about  mine,   it  wasn't  the  fashionable  color,  and  he 


A  Telegram.  239 

never  paid  much  for  it  in  the  first  place  ;  the  work  put 
into  it  made  it  dear,  and  so  on.  It  was  getting  late, 
and  I  was  afraid,  if  it  wasn't  done  right  away,  that  I 
shouldn't  have  it  done  at  all,  and  you  know,  when  I 
start  to  do  a  thing,  I  hate  to  give  it  up  ;  so  I  begged 
him  to  take  it,  and  told  him  why  I  was  in  such  a  hurry. 
It  was  silly,  I  dare  say,  but  it  changed  his  mind,  for  I 
got  rather  excited,  and  told  the  story  in  my  topsy- 
turvy way,  and  his  wife  heard,  and  said  so  kindly,"  — 

"  '  Take  it,  Thomas,  and  oblige  the  young  lady  ;  I'd 
do  as  much  for  our  Jimmy  any  day  if  I  had  a  spire 
of  hair  worth  selling.'  " 

"•Who  was  Jimmy?"  asked  Amy,  v/ho  liked  to 
have  things  explained  as  they  went  along. 

"  Her  son,  she  said,  who  is  in  the  army.  How 
friendly  such  things  make  strangers  feel,  don't  they? 
She  talked  away  all  the  time  the  man  clipped,  and 
diverted  my  mind  nicely." 

"  Didn't  you  feel  dreadfully  when  the  first  cut 
came  }  "  asked  Meg,  with  a  shiver. 

"  I  took  a  last  look  at  my  hair  while  the  man  got 
his  things,  and  that  was  the  end  of  it.  I  never  snivel 
over  trifles  like  that ;  I  will  confess,  though,  I  felt  queer 
vsdien  I  saw  the  dear  old  hair  laid  out  on  the  table,  and 
felt  only  the  short,  rough  ends  on  my  head.  It  almost 
seemed  as  if  I'd  an  arm  or  a  leg  off.  The  woman  saw 
me  look  at  it,  and  picked  out  a  long  lock  for  me  to 
keep.  I'll  give  it  to  you,  Marmee,  just  to  remember 
past  glories  by ;  for  a  crop  is  so  comfortable  I  don't 
think  I  shall  ever  have  a  mane  again." 

Mrs.  March  folded  the  wavy,  chestnut  lock,  and  laid 
•it  away  with  a  short  gray  one  in  her  desk.     She  only 


240  Little   Women. 

said  "  Thank  you,  deary,"  bat  something  in  her  face 
made  the  girls  change  the  subject,  and  talk  as  cheerfully 
as  they  could  about  Mr.  Brooke's  kindness,  the  prospect 
of  a  fine  day  to-morrow,  and  the  happy  times  they 
would  have  when  father  came  home  to  be  nursed. 

No  one  wanted  to  go  to  bed,  when,  at  ten  o'clock, 
Mrs.  March  put  by  the  last  finished  job,  and  said, 
"  Come,  girls."  Beth  went  to  the  piano  and  played 
the  father's  favorite  hymn ;  all  began  bravely,  but 
broke  down  one  by  one  till  Beth  was  left  alone,  sing- 
ing with  .all  her  heart,  for  to  hef  music  was  always  a 
sweet  consoler. 

"  Go  to  bed,  and  don't  talk,  for  we  must  be  up  early, 
and  shall  need  all  the  sleep  we  can  get.  Good-night, 
my  darlings,"  said  Mrs.  March,  as  the  hymn  ended, 
for  no  one  cared  to  try  another. 

They  kissed  her  quietly,  and  went  to  bed  as  silently 
as  if  the  dear  invalid  lay  in  the  next  room.  Beth  and 
Amy  soon  fell  asleep  in  spite  of  the  great  trouble,  but 
Meg  lay  awake  thinking  the  most  serious  thoughts  she 
had  ever  known  in  her  short  life.  Jo  lay  motionless, 
and  her  sister  fancied  that  she  was  asleep,  till  a  stifled 
sob  made  her  exclaim,  as  she  touched  a  wet  cheek, — 

"Jo,  dear,  what  is  it.^*  Are  you  crying  about 
father?" 

"  No,  not  now." 

"What  then?" 

"  My  —  my  hair,"  burst  out  poor  Jo,  trying  vainl}^  to 
smother  her  emotion  in  the  pillow. 

It  did  not  sound  at  all  comical  to  Meg,  who  kissed 
and  caressed  the  afflicted  heroine  in  the  tenderest 
manner. 


A  Telegram,  241 

'Tm  not  sorry,"  protested  Jo,  with  a  choke.  "I'd 
do  it  again  to-morrow,  if  I  could.  It's  only  the  vain, 
selfish  part  of  me  that  goes  and  cries  in  this  silly  w^ay. 
Don't  tell  any  one,  it's  all  over  now.  I  thought  you 
were  asleep,  so  I  just  made  a  little  private  moan  for 
-.  my  one  beauty.     How  came  you  to  be  awake  ?  " 

"  I  can't  sleep,  I'm  so  anxious,"  said  Meg. 

"  Think  about  something  pleasant,  and  you'll  soon 
drop  off." 

"  I  tried  it,  but  felt  wider  awake  than  ever." 

'*  What  did  you  think  of?  " 

"  Handsome  faces ;  eyes  particularly,'*  answered 
Meg  smilingly,  to  herself,  in  the  dark. 

"What  color  do  you  like  best?" 

"  Brown  —  that  is  sometimes — blue  are  lovely." 

Jo  laughed,  and  Meg  sharply  ordered  her  not  to 
talk,  then  amiably  promised  to  make  her  hair  curl, 
and  fell  asleep  to  dream  of  living  in  her  castle  in  the 
air. 

The  clocks  were  striking  midnight,  and  the  rooms 
were  very  still,  as  a  figure  glided  quietly  from  bed  to 
bed,  smoothing  a  coverlid  here,  setting  a  pillow  there, 
and  pausing  to  look  long  and  tenderly  at  each  un- 
conscious face,  to  kiss  each  with  lips  that  mutely 
blessed,  and  to  pray  the  fervent  prajers  which  only 
mothers  utter.  As  she  lifted  the  cui  tain  to  look  out 
into  the  dreary  night,  the  moon  broke  suddenly  from 
behind  the  clouds,  and  shone  upon  her  like  a  bright 
benignant  face,  which  seemed  to  whisper  in  the  silence, 
"  Be  comforted,  dear  heart !  there  is  always  light 
behind  the  clouds." 
t6 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


LETTERS 


IN  the  cold  gray  dawn  the  sisters  lit  their  lamp,  and 
read  their  chapter  with  an  earnestness  never  felt 
before,  for  now  the  shadow  of  a  real  trouble  had 
come,  showing  them  how  rich  in  sunshine  their  lives 
had  been.  The  little  books  were  full  of  help  and 
comfort ;  and,  as  they  dressed,  they  agreed  to  say  good- 
by  cheerfully,  hopefully,  and  send  their  mother  on  her 
anxious  journey  unsaddened  by  tears  or  complaints 
from  them.  Everything  seemed  very  strange  when 
they  went  down ;  so  dim  and  still  outside,  so  full  of 
light  and  bustle  within.  Breakfast  at  that  early  hour 
seemed  odd,  and  even  Hannah's  familiar  face  looked 
unnatural  as  she  flew  about  her  kitchen  with  her  night 
cap  on.  The  big  trunk  stood  ready  in  the  hall 
mother's  cloak  and  bonnet  lay  on  the  sofa,  and  mother 
herself  sat  trying  to  eat,  but  looking  so  pale  and  worn 
with  sleeplessness  and  anxiety,  that  the  girls  found  it 
very  hard  to  keep  their  resolution.  Meg's  eyes  kept 
filling  in  spite  of  herself;  Jo  was  obliged  to  hide  her 
face  in  the  kitchen  roller  more,  than  once,  and  the 
243 


Letters,  243 


little   girls'  young  faces-  wore  a  grave,  troubled    ex- 
pression, as  if  sorrow  was  a  new  experience  to  them. 

Nobody  talked  much,  but,  as  the  time  drew  very 
near,  and  they  sat  waiting  for  the  carriage,  Mrs. 
March  said  to  the  girls,  who  were  all  busied  about  her, 
one  folding  her  shawl,  another  smoothing  out  the 
strings  of  her  bonnet,  a  third  putting  on  her  over-- 
shoes,  and  a  fourth  fastening  up  her  travelling  bag,  — 

"  Children,  I  leave  you  to  Hannah's  care,  and  Mr. 
Laurence's  protection  ;  Hannah  is  faithfulness  itself, 
and  our  good  neighbor  will  guard  you  as  if  you  were 
his  own.  I  have  no  fears  for  you,  yet  I  am  anxious 
that  you  should  take  this  trouble  rightly.  Don't  grieve 
and  fret  when  I  am  gone,  or  think  that  you  can  com- 
fort yourselves  by  being  idle,  and  trying  to  forget.  Go 
on  with  your  work  as  usual,  for  work  is  a  blessed 
solace.  Hope,  and  keep  busy  ;  and,  whatever  happens, 
remember  that  you  never  can  be  fatherless." 

"Yes,  mother." 

"Meg  dear,  be  prudent,  watch  over  your  sisters, 
consult  Hannah,  and,  in  any  perplexity,  go  to  Mr. 
Laurence.  Be  patient,  Jo,  don't  get  despondent,  or 
do  rash  things  ;  write  to  me  often,  and  be  my  brave 
girl,  ready  to  help  and  cheer  us  all.  Beth,  comfort 
yourself  with  your  music,  and  be  faithful  to  the  little 
home  duties ;  and  you,  Amy,  help  all  you  can,  be 
obedient,  and  keep  happy  safe  at  home." 

"  We  will,  mother  !   we  will !  " 

The  rattle  of  an  approaching  carriage  made  them 
all  start  and  listen.  That  was  the  hard  minute,  but 
the  girls  stood  It  well ;  no  one  cried,  no  one  ran  away, 
or  uttered  a  lamentation,  though   their   hearts    were 


244  Little  Wofhen. 

very  heavy  as  they  sent  loving  messages  to  father, 
remembering,  as  they  spoke,  that  it  might  be  too  late 
to  deliver  them.  They  kissed  their  mother  quietly, 
clung  about  her  tenderly,  and  tried  to  wave  their  hands 
cheerfully,  when  she  drove  away. 

Laurie  and  his  gi-andfather  came  over  to  see  her  off, 
and  Mr.  Brooke  looked  so  strong,  and  sensible,  and 
kind,  that  the  girls  christened  him  "  Mr.  Greatheart," 
on  the  spot. 

"  Good-by,  my  darlings !  ^  God  bless  and  keep  us 
all,"  whispered  Mrs.  March,  as  she  kissed  one  dear 
little  face  after  the  other,  and  hurried  into  the  carriage. 

As  she  rolled  away,  the  sun  came  out,  and,  looking 
back,  she  saw  it  shining  on  the  group  at  the  gate,  like 
a  good  omen.  They  saw  it  also,  and  smiled  and 
waved  their  hands  ;  and  the  last  thing  she  beheld,  as 
she  turned  the  corner,  was  the  four  bright  faces,  and 
behind  them,  like  a  body-guard,  old  Mr.  Laurence, 
faithful  Hannah,  and  devoted  Laurie. 

"  How  kind  every  one  is  to  us,"  she  said,  turning  to 
find  fresh  proof  of  it  in  the  respectful  sympathy  of  the 
young  man's  face. 

"  I  don't  5ee  how  they  can  help  it,"  returned  Mr. 
Brooke,  laughing  so  infectiously  that  Mrs.  March  could 
not  help  smiling ;  and  so  the  long  journey  began  with 
the  good  omens  of  sunshine,  smiles,  and  cheerful 
words. 

"  I  feel  as  if  there  had  been  an  earthquake,"  said 
Jo,  as  their  neighbors  went  home  to  breakfast,  leaving 
them  to  rest  and  refresh  themselves. 

"  It  seems  as  if  half  the  house  was  gone,"  added 
Meg,  forlornly. 


*  Letters,  245 

Beth  opened  her  lips  to  say  something,  but  could 
only  point  to  the  pile  of  nicely-mended  hose  which 
lay  on  mother's  table,  showing  that  even  in  her  last 
hurried  moments  she  had  thought  and  worked  foi 
them.  It  was  a  little  thing,  but  it  went  straight  to 
their  hearts ;  and,  in  spite  of  their  brave  resolutions, 
they  all  broke  down,  and  cried  bitterly. 

Hannah  wisely  allowed  them  to  relieve  their  feel- 
ings ;  and,  when  the  shower  showed  signs  of  clearing 
up,  she  came  to  the  rescue,  armed  with  a  coffee-pot. 

"  Now,  my  dear  young  ladies,  remember  what  your 
ma  said,  and  don't  fret ;  come  and  have  a  ciip  of  coffee 
all  round,  and  then  let's  fall  to  work,  and  be  a  credit 
to  the  family." 

Coffee  was  a  treat,  and  Hannah  showed  great  tact 
in  making  it  that  morning.  No  one  could  resist  her 
persuasive  nods,  or  the  fragrant  invitation  issuing 
from  the  nose  of  the  coffee-pot.  They  drew  up  to  the 
table,  exchanged  their  handkerchiefs  for  napkins,  and, 
in  ten  minutes,  were  all  right  again. 

"  '  Hope  and  keep  busy ; '  that's  the  motto  for  us, 
so  let's  see  who  will  remember  it  best.  I  shall  go  to 
Aunt  March,  as  usual ;  oh,  won't  she  lecture,  though  ! " 
said  Jo,  as  she  sipped,  with  returning  spirit. 

"  I  shall  go  to  my  Kings,  though  I'd  much  rather 
stay  at  home  and  attend  to  things  here,"  said  Meg, 
wishing  she  hadn't  made  her  eyes  so  red. 

"No  need  of  that;  Beth  and  I  can  keep  house  per- 
fectly well,"  put  in  Amy,  with  an  important  air. 

"  Hannah  will  tell  us  what  to  do  ;  and  we'll'  have 
everything  nice  when  you  come  home,"  added  Beth, 
getting  out  her  mop  and  dish-tub  without  delay. 


246  Little  Women, 

"  I  think  anxiety  is  very  interesting,"  observed  Amy^ 
eating  sugar,  pensively. 

The  girls  couldn't  help  laughing,  and  felt  better  for 
it,  though  Meg  shook  her  head  at  the  young  lady  who 
could,  find  consolation  in  a  sugar-bowl. 

The  sight  of  the  turn-overs  made  Jo  sober  again  ; 
and,  when  the  two  went  out  to  their  daily  tasks, 
they  looked  sorrowfully  back  at  the  window  where 
they  were  accustomed  to  see  their  mother's  face.  It 
was  gone  ;  but  Beth  had  remembered  the  little  house- 
hold ceremony,  and  there  she  was,  nodding  away  at 
them  like  a  rosy-faced  mandarin. 

"  That's  so  like  my  Beth  !  "  said  Jo,  waving  her  hat, 
with  a  grateful  fiice.  "  Good-by,  Meggy  ;  I  hope  the 
Kings  won't  train  to-day.  Don't  fret  about  father, 
dear,"  she  added,  as  they  parted. 

"And  I  hope  Aunf  March  won't  croak.  Your 
hair  is  becoming,  and  it  looks  very  boyish  and  nice," 
returned  Meg,  trying  not  to  smile  at  the  curly  head, 
which  looked  comically  small  on  her  tall  sister's 
shoulders. 

"  That's  my  only  comfort ;  "  and,  touching  her  hat 
a  la  Laurie,  away  went  Jo,  feeling  like  a  shorn  sheep 
o  1  a  wintry  day. 

News  from  their  father  comforted  the  girls  very 
much  ;  for,  though  dangerously  ill,  the  presence  of  the 
best  and  tenderest  of  nurses  had  already  done  him 
good.  Mr.  Brooke  sent  a  bulletin  every  day,  and,  as 
the  head  of  the  family,  Meg  insisted  on  reading  the 
despatches,  which  grew  more  and  more  cheering  as 
the  week  passed.  At  first,  every  one  was  eager  to 
write,  and  plump  envelopes  were  carefully  poked  into 


Letters.  247 

the  letter-box,  by  one  or  other  of  the  sisters,  who  felt 
rather  important  with  their  Washington  correspond- 
ence. As  one  of  these  packets  contained  characteristic 
notes  from  the  party,  we  will  rob  an  imaginary  mail, 
and  read  them  :  — 

'•My  Dearest  Mother, — 

"  It  is   impossible  to    tell  you  how  happy   your 
last   letter  made  us,  for   the  news  was  so   good  we 
couldn't  help  laughing  and  crying  over  it.     How  very 
kind  Mr.  Brooke  is,  and  how  fortunate  that  Mr.  Lau- 
rence's business  detains  him  near  you  so  long,  since  he 
is  so  useful  to  you  and  father.     The  girls   are  all  as 
good    as   gold.     Jo   helps    me  with  the  sewing,   and 
insists  on  doing  all  sorts  of   hard  jobs.     I  should  be 
afraid  she  might  overdo,  if  I  didn't  know   that   her 
'moral  fit'  wouldn't   last  long.      Beth    is  as  regulai 
about  her  tasks  as  a  clock,  and  never  forgets  what  you 
told  her.     She  grieves  about  father,  and  looks  sober, 
except  when  she  is  at  her  little  piano.     Amy  minds 
me  nicely,  and  I  take  great  care  of  her.     She  does  her 
own  hair,  and  I  am  teaching  her  to  make  button-holes, 
and  mend  her  stockings.     She  tries  very  hard,  and  I 
know  you  will  be  pleased  with  her  improvement  when 
you    come.     Mr.  Laurence   watches    over   us   like    a 
motherly  old  hen,  as  Jo  says ;  and  Laurie  is  very  kind 
and  neighborly.     He  and  Jo  keep  us  merry,  for  we 
get  pretty  blue  sometimes,  and  feel  like  orphans,  with 
you  so  far  away.     Hannah  is  a  perfect  saint ;  she  does 
not  scold  at  all,  and  always  calls  me  '  Miss  Margaret,' 
which  is  quite  proper,  you  know,  and  treats  me  with 
respect.     We  are  all  well  and  busy ;  but  we  long,  day 


248  Little  Women. 

and  night,  to  have  you  back.     Give  my  dearest  love 
to  father,  and  behave  me,  ever  your  own  Meg." 

This  note,  prettily  written  on  scented  paper,  was 
a  great  contrast  to  the  next,  which  was  scribbled  on  a 
big  sheet  of  thin,  foreign  paper,  ornamented  with 
blots,  and  all  manner  of  flourishes  and  curly-tailed 
letters :  — 

s» 
"My  precious  Marmee, — 

"  Three  cheers  for  dear  old  father  !  Brooke  was 
a  trump  to  telegraph  right  off,  and  let  us  know  the 
minute  he  was  better.  I  rushed  up  garret  when  the 
letter  came,  and  tried  to  thank  God  for  being  so  good 
to  us ;  but  I  could  only  cry,  and  say,  '  I'm  glad !  I'm 
glad ! '  Didn't  that  do  as  well  as  a  regular  prayer  ? 
for  I  felt  a  great  many  in  my  heart.  We  have  such 
funny  times  ;  and  now  I  can  enjoy  'em,  for  every  one 
is  so  desperately  good,  it's  like  living  in  a  nest  of 
turtle-doves.  You'd  laugh  to  see  Meg  head  the  table, 
and  try  to  be  motherish.  She  gets  prettier  every  day, 
and  I'm  in  love  with  her  sometimes.  The -children 
are  regular  archangels,  and  I  —  well,  I'm  Jo,  and 
never  shall  be  anything  else.  Oh,  I  must  tell  you  that 
I  came  near  having  a  quarrel  with  Laurie.  I  freed  my 
mind  about  a  silly  little  thing,  and  he  was  oflended. 
I  was  right,  but  didn't  speak  as  I  ought,  and  he 
marched  home,  saying  he  wouldn't  come  again  till  I 
begged  pardon.  I  declared  I  wouldn't,  and  got  mad. 
It  lasted  all  day  ;  I  felt  bad,  and  wanted  you  very 
much.  Laurie  and  I  are  both  so  proud,  it's  hard  to 
beg  pardon  ;  but  I  thought  lie'd  come   to  it,  for  I  was 


Letters,  249 

in  the  right.  He  didn't  came ;  and  just  at  night  1 
remembered  what  you  said  when  Amy  fell  into  the 
river.  I  read  my  little  book,  felt  better,  resolved  not 
to  let  the  sun  set  on  my  anger,  and  ran  over  to  tell 
Laurie  I  was  sorry.  I  met  him  at  the  gate,  coming 
for  the  same  thing.  We  both  laughed,  begged  each 
other's  pardon,  and  felt  all  good  and  comfortable  again. 
"I  made  a  '  pome'  yesterday,  when  I  was  helping 
Hannah  wash ;  and,  as  father  likes  my  silly  little 
things,  I  put  it  in  to  amuse  him.  Give  him  the  lov- 
ingest  hug  that  ever  was,  and  kiss  yourself  a  dozen 
times,  for  your 

"  ToPSY-TuRVY  Jo. 

« A  SONG  FROM  THE  SUDS. 

"  Queen  of  my  tub,  I  merrily  sing, 

While  the  white  foam  rises  high; 
And  sturdily  wash,  and  rinse,  and  wring, 

And  fasten  the  clothes  to  dry; 
Then  out  in  the  free  fresh  air  they  swing, 

Under  the  sunny  sky. 

"  I  wish  we  could  wash  from  our  hearts  and  souls 

The  stains  of  the  week  away, 
And  let  water  and  air  by  their  magic  make 

Ourselves  as  pure  as  they; 
Then  on  the  earth  there  would  be  indeed 

A  glorious  washing-day! 

"  Along  the  path  of  a  useful  life. 

Will  heart's-ease  ever  bloom; 
The  busy  mind  has  no  time  to  think 

Of  sorrow,  or  care,  or  gloom ; 
And  anxious  thoughts  may  be  swept  away. 

As  we  busily  wield   a  broom. 


250  Little  Women. 

"I  am  glad  a  task  to  me  is  given, 

To  labor  at  day  by  day; 
For  it  brings  me  health,  and  strength,  and  hope, 

And  I  cheerfully  learn  to  say,  — 
*  Head  you  may  think,  Heart  you  may  feel, 

But  Hand  you  shall  work  alway!'" 


"  Dear  Mother  : 

"  There  is  only  room  for  me  to  send  my  love^ 
and  some  pressed  pansies  from  the  root  I  have  been 
keeping  safe  in  the  house,  for  father  to  see.  I  read 
every  morning,  try  to  be  good  all  day,  and  sing  myself 
to  sleep  with  father's  tune.  I  can't  sing  '  Land  of  the 
Leal'  now;  it  makes  me  cry.  Everyone  is  very  kind, 
and  we  are  as  happy  as  we  can  be  without  you.  Amy 
wants  the  rest  of  the  page,  so  I  must  stop.  I  didn't 
forget  to  cover  the  holders,  and  I  wind  the  clock  and 
air  the  rooms  every  day. 

"  Kiss  dear  father  on  the  cheek  he  calls  mine.     Oh, 
do  come  soon  to  your  loving 

"Little  Beth." 

"Ma  Chere  Mamma: 

"We  are  all  well  I  do  my  lessons  always  and 
never  corroberate  the  girls  —  Meg  says  I  mean  con- 
tradick  so  I  put  in  both  words  and  you  can  take  the 
properest.  Meg  is  a  great  comfort  to  me  and  lets  me 
have  jelly  every  night  at  tea  its  so  good  for  me  Jo  says 
because  it  keeps  me  sweet  tempered.  Laurie  is  not 
as  respeckful  as  he  ought  to  be  now  I  am  almost  in 
my  teens,  he  calls  me  Chick  and  hurts  my  feelings  by 


Letters,  251 

talking  French  to  me  very  fast  when  I  say  Merci  or 
Bon  jour  as  Hattie  King  does.  The  sleeves  of  my 
blue  dress  were  all  worn  out  and  Meg  put  in  new 
ones  but  the  full  front  came  wrong  and  they  are  more 
blue  than  the  dress.  I  felt  bad  but  did  not  fret  I  beai 
my  troubles  well  but  I  do  wish  Hannah  would  pul 
more  starch  in  my  aprons  and  have  buck  wheats  every 
day.  Can't  she?  Didn't  I  make  that  interrigation 
point  nice.  Meg  says  my  punchtuation  and  spelling 
are  disgraceful  and  I  am  mortyfied  but  dear  me  I  have 
so  many  things  to  do  I  can't  stop.  Adieu,  I  send 
heaps  of  love  to  Papa. 

*'Your  affectidnate  daughter, 

"  Amy  Curtis  March." 


"  Dear  Mis  March  : 

"I  jes  drop  a  line  to  say  we  git  on  fust  rate. 
The  girls  is  clever  and  fly  round  right  smart.  Miss 
Meg  is  goin  to  make  a  proper  good  housekeeper  ;  she 
hes  the  liking  for  it,  and  gits  the  hang  of  things  sur- 
prisin  quick.  Jo  do:)S  beat  all  for  goin  ahead, 'but 
she  don't  stop  to  cal'k'late  fust,  and  you  never  know 
where  she's  like  to  bring  up.  She  done  out  a  tub  of 
clothes  on  Monday,  but  she  starched  em  afore  they 
was  wrenched,  and  blued  a  pink  calico  dress  till  I 
thought  I  should  a  died  a,  laughin.  Beth  is  the  best 
of  little  creeters,  and  a  sight  of  help  to  me,  bein  so 
forehanded  and  dependable.  She  tries  to  learn  every- 
thing, and  really  goes  to  market  beyond  her  years ; 
likewise  keeps  accounts,  with  my  help,  quite  won- 
derful.    We  have  got  on  very  economical   so  fur ;   I 


252  Little  Women, 

don't  let  the  girls  hev  coffee  only  once  a  week,  accordin 
to  your  wish,  and  keep  em  on  plain  wholesome  vittles. 
Amy  does  well  about  frettin,  wearin  her  best  clothes 
and  eatin  sweet  stuff.  •  Mr.  Laurie  is  as  full  of  didoes 
as  usual,  and  turns  the  house  upside  down  frequent ; 
but  he  heartens  up  the  girls,  and  so  I  let  em  hev  full 
swing.  The  old  man  sends  heaps  of  things,  and  is 
rather  wearin,  but  means  wal,  and  it  aint  my  place  to 
say  nothin.  My  bread  is  riz,  so  no  more  at  this  time. 
I  send  my  duty  to  Mr.  March,  and  hope  he's  seen  the 
last  of  his  Pewmonia. 

"Yours  respectful, 

"  Hannah  Mullet  " 


"  Head  Nurse  of  Ward  II. : 

"All  serene  on  the  Rappahannock,  troops  in 
fine  condition,  commissary  department  well  conducted, 
the  Home  Guard  under  Colonel  Teddy  always  on 
duty.  Commander-in-chief  General  Laurence  reviews 
the  army  daily.  Quartermaster  Mullett  keeps  order  in 
camp,  and  Major  Lion  does  picket  duty  at  night.  A 
salute  of  twenty-four  guns  was  fired  on  receipt  of 
good  news  from  Washington,  and  a  dress  parade  took 
place  at  head-quarters.  Commander-in-chief  sends  best 
wishes,  in  which  he  is  heartily  joined  by 

Colonel  Teddy." 

"Dear  Mada5i: 

"  The  little  girls  are  all  well ;  Beth  and  my 
boy  report  daily ;  Hannah  is  a  model  servant,  guards 
pretty  Meg   like  a  dragon.      Glad    the    fine  weather 


Letters,  253 

holds ;  pray  make  Brooke  useful,  and  draw  on  me  for 
funds  if  expenses  exceed  your  estimate.  Don't  let 
your  husband  want  anything.  Thank  God  he  is 
mending. 

"  Your  sincere  friend  and  servant, 

"James  Laurence.". 


% 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


LITTLE     FAITHFUL 


I~10R  a  week  the  amount  of  virtue  in  the  old  house 
'  would  have  supplied  the  neighborhood.  It 
was  really  amazing,  for  every  one  seemed  in 
a  heavenly  frame  of  mind,  and  self-denial  was  all 
the  fashion.  Relieved  of  their  first  anxiety  about  their 
father,  the  girls  insensibly  relaxed  their  praiseworthy 
efforts  a  little,  and  began  to  fall  back  into  the  old  ways. 
They  did  not  forget  their  motto,  but  hoping  and  keep- 
ing busy  seemed  to  grow  easier ;  and,  after  such  tre- 
mendous exertions,  they  felt  that  Endeavor  deserved  a 
holiday,  and  gave  it  a  good  many. 

Jo  caught  a  bad  cold  through  neglecting  to  cover 
the  shorn  head  enough,  and  was  ordered  to  stay  at 
home  till  she  was  better,  for  Aunt  March  didn't  like 
to  hear  people  read  with  colds  in  their  heads.  Jo  liked 
this,  and  after  an  energetic  rummage  from  garret  to 
cellar,  subsided  on  to  the  sofa  to  nurse  her  cold  witli 
arsenicum  and  books.  Amy  found  that  house-work 
and  art  did  not  go  well  together,  and  returned  to  her 
mud  pies.  Meg  went  daily  to  her  kingdom,  and 
sewed,  or  thought  she  did,  at  home,  but  much  time 
2H 


Little  Faithful,  255 

was  spent  in  writing  long  letters  to  her  mother,  01 
reading  the  Washington  despatches  over  and  over. 
Beth  kept  on  with  only  slight  relapses  into  idleness  or 
grieving.  All  the  little  duties  were  faithfully  done 
each  day,  and  many  of  her  sisters'  also,  for  they  were 
forgetful,  and  the  house  seemed  like  a  clock,  whose 
pendulum  was  gone  a-visiting.  When  her  heart  got 
heavy  with  longings  for  mother,  or  fears  for  father, 
she  went  away  into  a  certain  closet,  hid  her  face  in 
the  folds  of  a  certain  dear  old  gown,  and  made  her 
little  moan,  and  prayed  her  little  prayer  quietly  by 
herself.  Nobody  knew  what  cheered  her  up  after  a 
sober  fit,  but  every  one  felt  how  sweet  and  helpful 
Beth  was,  and  fell  into  a  way  of  going  to  her  for  com- 
fort or  advice  in  their  small  affairs. 

All  were  unconscious  that  this  experience  was  a  test 
of  character ;  and,  when  the  first  excitement  was  over, 
felt  that  they  had  done  well,  and  deserved  praise.  So 
they  did ;  but  their  mistake  was  in  ceasing  to  do  well, 
and  they  learned  this  lesson  through  much  anxiety  and 
regret. 

"  Meg,  I  wish  you'd  go  and  see  the  Hummels ;  you 
know  mother  told  us  not  to  forget  them,"  said  Beth, 
ten  days  after  Mrs.  March's  departure. 

"  I'm  too  tired  to  go  this  afternoon,"  replied  Meg, 
rocking  comfortably,  as  she  sewed. 
.    "  Can't  you,  Jo  ?  "  asked  Beth. 

*'  Too  stormy  for  me,  with  my  cold." 

*'  I  thought  it  was  most  well." 

"  It's  well  enough  for  me  to  go  out  with  Laurie, 
but  not  well  enough  to  go  the  Hummels,"  said  Jo, 


256  Little   Women. 

laughing,  but  looking  a  little  ashamed  of  her  in- 
consistency-. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  yourself?  "  asked  Meg. 

"  I  have  been  every  d_ay,  but  the  baby  is  sick,  and  I 
don't  know  what  to  do  for  it.  Mrs.  Hummel  goes 
away  to  work,  and  Lottchen  takes  care  of  it ;  but  it 
gets  sicker  and  sicker,  and  I  think  you  or  Hannah 
ought  to  go." 

Beth  spoke  earnestly,  and  Meg  promised  she  would 
go  to-morrow.  ^^ 

"Ask  Hannah  for  some  nice  little  mess,  and  take  it 
round,  Beth,  the  air  will  do  you  good  ; "  said  Jo,  adding 
apologetically,  "  I'd  go,  but  I  want  to  finish  my  story." 

"My  head  aches,  and  I'm  tired,  so  I  thought  maybe 
some  of  you  v/ould  go,"  said  Beth. 

"  Amy  will  be  in  presently,  and  she  will  run  down 
for  us,"  suggested  Meg. 

"  Well,  I'll  rest  a  little,  and  wait  for  her." 

So  Beth  lay  down  on  the  sofa,  the  others  returned  to 
their  work,  and  the  Hummels  were  foi;gotten.  An 
hour  passed,  Amy  did  not  come ;  Meg  went  to  her 
room  to  try  on  a  new  dress ;  Jo  was  absorbed  in  her 
story,  and  Hannah  was  sound  asleep  before  the  kitchen 
fire,  when  Beth  quietly  put  on  her  hood,  filled  her 
basket  with  odds  and  ends  for  the  poor  children,  and 
went  out  into  the  chilly  air  with  a  heavy  head,  and  a 
grieved  look  in  her  patient  eyes.  It  was  late  when  she 
came  back,  and  no  one  saw  her  creep  upstairs  and 
shut  herself  into  her  mother's  room.  Half  an  hour 
after  Jo  went  to  "  mother's  closet "  for  something,  and 
there  found  Beth  sitting  on  the  medicine  chest,  looking 


Little  Faithful.  257 

very  grave,  with  red  eyes,  and  a  camphor  bottle  in  her 
hand. 

"  Christopher  Columbus  !  what's  the  matter?"  cried 
Jo,  as  Beth  put  out  her  hand  as  if  to  warn  her  off,  and 
asked  quickly,  — 

"  You've  had  scarlet  fever,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  Years  ago,  when  Meg  did.     Why  ? " 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you  —  oh,  Jo,  the  bab/s  dead ! " 

"What  baby?" 

"  Mrs.  Hummel's ;  it  died  in  my  lap  before  she  got 
home,"  cried  Beth,  with  a  sob. 

"  My  poor  dear,  how  dreadful  for  you  !  •!  ought  to 
nave  gone,"  said  Jo,  taking  her  sister  in  her  lap  as  she 
sat  down  in  her  mother's  big  chair,  with  a  remorseful 
face. 

"  It  wasn't  dreadful,  Jo,  only  so  sad !  I  saw  in  a 
minute  that  it  was  sicker,  but  Lottchen  said  her  mother 
had  gone  for  a  doctor,  so  I  took  baby  and  let  Lotty  rest. 
It  seemed  asleep,  but  all  of  a  sudden  it  gave  a  little 
cry,  and  trembled,  and  then  lay  very  still.  I  tried  to 
warm  its  feet,  and  Lotty  gave  it  some  milk,  but  it 
didn't  stir,  and  I  knew  it  was  dead." 

"  Don't  cry,  dear  !   what  did  you  do  }  '* 

"  I  just  sat  and  held  it  softly  till  Mrs.  Hummel  came 
with  the  doctor.  He  said  it  was  dead,  and  looked  at 
Heinrich  and  Minna,  who  have  got  sore  throats. 
'  Scarlet  fever,  ma'am  ;  ought  to  have  called  me  be- 
fore,' he  said,  crossly.  Mrs.  Hummel  told  him  she 
was  poor,  and  had  tried  to  cure  baby  herself,  but  now 
it  was  too  late,  and  she  could  only  ask  him  to  help  the 
others,  and  trust  to  charity  for  his  pay.  He  smiled 
then,  and  was  kinder,  but  it  was  very  sad,  and  I  cried 
17 


258  Little   Women, 

with  them  till  he  turned  round  all  of  a  sudden,  and 
told  nie  to  go  home  and  take  belladonna  right  away, 
or  I'd  have  the  fever." 

"  No  you  won't  I  "  cried  Jo,  hugging  her  close,  with 
a  frightened  look.  "Oh,  Beth,  if  you  should  be  sick 
I  never  could  forgive  myself!     What  shall  we  do.?  " 

"  Don't  be  f^-ightened,  I  guess  I  shan't  have  it  badly  ; 
I  looked  in  mother's  book,  and  saw  that  it  begins  with 
headache,  sore  throat,  and  queer  feelings  like  mine,  so 
I  did  take  some  belladonna,  and  I  feel  better,"  said 
Beth,  laying  her  cold  hands  on  her  hot  forehead,  and 
trying  to  look  well. 

"  If  mother  was  only  at  home ! "  exclaimed  Jo, 
seizing  the  book,  and  feeling  that  Washington  was  an 
immense  way  off.  She  read  a  page,  looked  at  Beth, 
felt  her  head,  peeped  into  her  throat,  and  then  said, 
gravely,  "  You've  been  over  the  baby  every  day  for 
more  than  a  week,  and  among  the  others  who  are 
going  to  have  it,  so  I'm  afraid  you're  going  to  have  it, 
Beth.     I'll  call  Hannah  ;  she  knows  all  about  sickness." 

*'  Don't  let  Amy  come  ;  she  never  had  it,  and  I 
should  hate  to  give  it  to  her.  Can't  you  and  Meg 
nave  it  over  again  }  "  asked  Beth,  anxiously. 

"I  guess  not;  don't  care  if  I  do ;  serve  me  right, 
selfish  pig,  to  let  you  go,  and  stay  writing  rubbish  my- 
self! "  muttered  Jo,  as  she  went  to  consult  Hannah. 

The  good  soul  was  wide  awake  in  a  minute,  and 
took  the  lead  at  once,  assuring  Jo  that  there  was  no 
need  to  worry ;  every  one  had  scarlet  fever,  and,  if 
rightly  treated,  nobody  died  ;  all  of  which  Jo  be- 
lieved, and  felt  much  relieved  as  they  went  up  to  call 
Meg. 


Little  Faithful.  259 

"  Now  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  said  Hannah, 
when  she  had  examined  and  questioned  Beth ;  "  we 
will  have  Dr.  Bangs,  just  to  take  a  look  at  you,  dear, 
and  see  that  we  start  right ;  then  we'll  send  Amy  off 
to  Aunt  March's,  for  a  spell,  to  keep  her  out  of  harm's 
way,  and  one  of  you  girls  can  stay  at  home  and 
amuse  Beth  for  a  day  or  two." 

"  I  shall  stay,  of  course,  I'm  oldesf;"  began  Meg, 
looking  anxious  and  self-reproachful. 

"  /  shall,  because  it's  my  fault  she  is  sick ;  I  told 
mother  I'd  do  the  errands,  and  I  haven't,"  said  Jo, 
decidedly. 

"Which  will  you  have,  Beth?  there  ain't  no  need 
of  but  one,"  said  Hannah. 

"Jo,  please  ; "  and  Beth  leaned  her  head  against  her 
sister,  with  a  contented  look,  which  effectually  settled 
that  point. 

"  I'll  go  and  tell  Amy,"  said  Meg,  feeling  a  little 
hurt,  yet  rather  relieved,  on  the  whole,  for  she  did  not 
like  nursing,  and  Jo  did. 

Amy  rebelled  outright,  and  passionately  declared 
that  she  had  rather  have  the  fever  than  go  to  Aunt 
March.  Meg  reasoned,  pleaded,  and  commanded,  all 
in  vain.  Amy  protested  that  she  would  not  go  ;  and 
Meg  left  her  in  despair,  to  ask  Hannah  what  should 
be  done.  Before  she  came  back,  Laurie  walked  into 
the  parlor  to  find  Amy  sobbing,  with  her  head  in  the 
sofa  cushions.  She  told  her  story,  expecting  to  be 
consoled  ;  butLaurie  only  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  walked  about  the  room,  whistling  softly,  as  he  knit 
his  brows  in  deep  thought.  Presently  he  sat  down 
beside  her,  and  said,  in  his  most  wheedlesome  tone, 


26o  Little   Women. 

"  Now  be  a  sensible  little  woman,  and  do  as  they  say. 
No,  don't  cry,  but  hear  what  a  jolly  plan  I've  got. 
You  go  to  Aunt  March's,  and  I'll  come  and  take  you 
out  eveiy  day,  driving  or  walking,  and  we'll  have 
capital  times.  Won't  that  be  better  than  moping 
here?" 

"  I  don't  wish  to  be  sent  off  as  if  I  was  in  the  way," 
began  Amy,  in  an  injured  voice. 

"Bless  your  heart,  child!  it's  to  keep  you  well. 
You  don't  want  to  be  sick,  do  you  }  " 

"  No,  I'm  sure  I  don't ;  but  I  dare  say  I  shall  be,  for 
I've  been  with  Beth  all  this  time." 

"  That's  the  very  reason  you  ought  to  go  away  at 
once,  so  that  you  may  escape  it.  Change  of  air  and 
care  will  keep  you  well,  I  dare  say ;  or,  if  it  don't 
entirely,  you  will  have  the  fever  more  lightly.  I 
advise  you  to  be  oft^  as  soon  as  you  can,  for  scarlet 
fever  is  no  joke,  miss." 

"  But  it's  dull  at  Aunt  March's,  and  she  is  so  cross," 
said  Amy,  looking  rather  frightened. 

"  It  won't  be  dull  with  me  popping  in  every  day 
to  tell  you  how  Beth  is,  and  take  you  out  gallivant- 
ing. The  old  lady  likes  me,  and  I'll  be  as  clever 
as  possible  to  her,  so  she  won't  peck  at  us,  whatever 
we  do." 

*'  Will  you  take  me  out  in  the  trotting  wagon  with 
Puck.?" 

"  On  my  honor  as  a  gentleman." 

"  And  come  every  single  day  ?  " 

"  See  if  I  don't." 

"  And  bring  me  back  the  minute  Beth  is  well?" 

"  The  identical  minute." 


Little  FaithfuL  261 

"  And  go  to  the  theatre,  truly  ?  " 

"  A  dozen  theatres,  if  we  may." 

"Well  —  I  guess  —  I  will,"  said  Amy,  slowly. 

"  Good  girl !  Sing  out  for  Meg,  and  tell  her  you'll 
give  in,"  said  Laurie,  with  an  approving  pat,  which 
annoyed  Amy  more  than  the  "  giving  in." 

Meg  and  Jo  came  running  down  to  behold  the 
miracle  which  had  been  wrought ;  and  Amy,  feeling 
very  precious  and  self-sacrificing,  promised  to  go,  if 
the  doctor  said  Beth  was  going  to  be  ill. 

"How  is  the  little  dear?"  asked  Laurie;  for  Beth 
was  his  especial  pet,  and  he  felt  more  anxious  about 
her  than  he  liked  to  show. 

"  She  is  lying  down  on  mother's  bed,  and  feels  bet- 
ter. The  baby's  death  troubled  her,  but  I  dare  say 
she  has  only  got  cold.  Hannah  says  she  thinks  so ; 
but  she  looks  worried,  and  that  makes  me  fidgety," 
answered  Meg. 

"  What  a  trying  world  it  is  !  "  said  Jo,  rumpling  up 
her  hair  in  a  fretful  sort  of  way.  "No  sooner  do  we 
get  out  of  one  trouble  than  down  comes  another. 
There  don't  seem  to  be  a^nything  to  hold  on  to  when 
mother's  gone  ;  so  I'm  all  at  sea." 

"Well,  don't  make  a  porcupine  of  yourself,  it  isn't 
becoming.  Settle  your  wig,  Jo,  and  tell  me  if  I  shall 
telegraph  to  your  mother,  or  do  anything  ? "  asked 
Laurie,  who  never  had  been  reconciled  to  the  loss  of 
his  friend's  one  beauty. 

"  That  is  what  troubles  me,"  said  Meg.  "  I  think 
we  ought  to  tell  her  if  Beth  is  really  ill,  but  Hannah 
says  we  mustn't,  for  mother  can't  leave  father,  .'  iid  it 
will  only  make  them  anxious.     Beth  won't  be   sick 


262  Little  Women. 

long,  and  Hannah  knows  just  what  to  do,  and  mother 
said  we  were  to  mind  her,  so  I  suppose  we  must,  but 
it  don't  seem  quite  right  to  me." 

"  Hum,  well,  I  can't  say ;  suppose  you  ask  grand- 
father, after  the  doctor  has  been." 

*'  We  will ;  Jo,  go  and  get  Dr.  Bangs  at  once,"  com- 
manded Meg ;  "  we  can't  decide  anything  till  he  has 
been." 

"  Stay  where  you  are,  Jo ;  I'm  errand  boy  to  this 
establishment,"  said  Laurie,  taking  up  his  cap. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are  busy,"  began  Meg. 

"No,  I've  done  my  lessons  for  the  day." 

"  Do  you  study  in  vacation  time?"  asked  Jo. 

"  I  follow  the  good  example  my  neighbors  set  me," 
was  Laurie's  answer,  as  he  swung  himself  out  of  the 
room. 

"  I  have  great  hopes  of  my  boy,"  observed  Jo, 
watching  him  fty  over  the  fence  with  an  approving 
smile. 

"  He  does  very  well  —  for  a  boy,"  was  Meg's  some- 
what ungracious  answer,  for  the  subject  did  not  in- 
terest her. 

Dr.  Bangs  came,  said  Beth  had  symptoms  of  the 
fever,  but  thought  she  would  have  it  lightly,  though  he 
looked  sober  over  the  Hummel  story.  Amy  was 
ordered  off'  at  once,  and  provided  with  something  to 
ward  off  danger ;  she  departed  in  great  state,  with  Jo 
and  Laurie  as  escort. 

Aunt  March  received  them  with  her  usual  hos- 
pitality. 

"What   do  you  want   now?"    she   asked,   looking 


Little  Faithful.  "263 

sharply  over  her  spectacles,  while  the  parrot,  sitting 
on  the  back  of  her  chair,  called  out,  — 

"  Go  away  ;  no  boys  allowed  here." 

Laurie  retired  to  the  window,  and  Jo  told  her  story. 

*'  No  more  than  I  expected,  if  you  are  allowed  to  go 
poking  about  among  poor  folks.  Amy  can  stay  and 
make  herself  useful  if  she  isn't  sick,  which  I've  no 
doubt  she  will  be,  —  looks  like  it  now.  Don't  cry,  child, 
it  worries  me  to  hear  people  sniff." 

Amy  was  on  the  point  of  crying,  but  Laurie  slyly 
pulled  the  parrot's  tail,  which  caused  Polly  to  utter  an 
astonished  croak,  and  call  out,  — 

"  Bless  my  boots !  "  in  such  a  funny  way,  that  she 
laughed  instead. 

"  What  do  you  hear  from  your  mother?  "  asked  the 
old  lady,  gruffly. 

''  Father  is  much  better,"  replied  Jo,  trying  to  keep 
sober. 

"Oh,  is  he.?  Well,  that  won't  last  long,  I  fancy ; 
March  never  had  any  stamina,"  was  the  cheerful 
reply. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  never  say  die,  take  a  pinch  of  snuft',  good- 
by,  good-by  !  "  squalled  Polly,  dancing  on  her  perch, 
and  clawing  at  the  old  lady's  cap  as  Laurie  tweaked 
him  in  the  rear. 

'•  Hold  your  tongue,  you  disrespectful  old  bird  ! 
and,  Jo,  you'd  better  go  at  once  ;  it  isn't  proper  to 
be  gadding  about  so  late  with  a  rattle-pated  boy 
like  —  "  ; 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  disrespectful  old  bird ! " 
cried  Polly,  tumbling  off  the  chair  with  a  bounce   and 


264  Little  Women, 

running  to  peck  the  "  rattle-pated "  boy,  who  was 
shaking  with  laughter  at  the  last  speech. 

"  I  don't  think  I  can  bear  it,  but  I'll  try,"  thought 
Amy,  as  she  was  left  alone  with  Aunt  March. 

"  Get  along,  you're  a  fright ! "  screamed  Polly,  and  at 
that  rude  speech  Amy  could  not  restrain  a  sniff. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


DARK     DAYS, 


BETH  did  have  the  fever,  and  was  much  sicker 
than  any  one  but  Hannah  and  the  doctor  sus- 
pected. The  girls  knew  nothing  about  illness, 
and  Mr.  Laurence  vs^as  not  allowed  to  see  her,  so 
Hannah  had  everything  all  her  own  way,  and  busy 
Dr.  Bangs  did  his  best,  but  left  a  good  deal  to  the 
excellent  nurse.  Meg  stayed  at  home,  lest  she  should 
infect  the  Kings,  and  kept  house,  feeling  very  anxious, 
and  a  little  guilty,  when  she  wrote  letters  in  which  no 
mention  was  made  of  Beth's  illness.  She  could  not 
think  it  right  to  deceive  her  mother,  but  she  had  been 
bidden  to  mind  Hannah,  and  Hannah  wouldn't  hear 
of  "  Mrs.  March  bein'  told,  and  worried  just  for  sech  a 
trifle."  Jo  devoted  herself  to  Beth  day  and  night ;  not 
a  hard  task,  for  Beth  was  very  patient,  and  bore  her 
pain  uncomplainingly  as  long  as  she  could  control 
herself.  But  there  came  a  time  when  during  the 
fever  fits  she  began  to  talk  in  a  hoarse,  broken  voice,  to 
play  on  the  coverlet,  as  if  on  her  beloved  little  piano, 
and  try  to  sing  with  a  throat  so  swollen,  that  there  was 
no   music  left;    a  time  when    she  did  not  know  the 

265 


266  Little  Women. 

familiar  faces  round  her,  but  addressed  them  by  wrong 
names,  and  called  imploringly  for  her  mother.  Then 
Jo  grew  frightened,  Meg  begged  to  be  allowed  to 
write  the  truth,  and  even  Hannah  said  she  "would 
think  of  it,  though  there  was  no  danger  yet.^'  A 
letter  from  Washington  added  to  their  trouble,  for  Mr. 
March  had  had  a  relapse,  and  could  not  think  of 
coming  home  fo^*  a  long  while. 

How  dark  the  days  seemed  now,  how  sad  and  lonely 
the  house,  and  how  heavy  were  the  hearts  of  the 
sisters  as  they  worked  and  waited,  while  the  shadow 
of  death  hovered  over  the  once  happy  home  !  Then  it 
was  that  Margaret,  sitting  alone  with  tears  dropping 
often  on  her  work,  felt  how  rich  she  had  been  in 
things  more  precious  than  any  luxuries  money  could 
buy ;  in  love,  protection,  peace  and  health,  the  real 
blessings  of  life.  Then  it  was  that  Jo,  living  in  the 
darkened  room  with  that  suffering  little  sister  always 
before  her  eyes,  and  that  pathetic  voice  sounding  in 
her  ears,  learned  to  see  the  beauty  and  the  sweetness 
of  Beth's  nature,  to  feel  how  deep  and  tender  a  place 
she  filled  in  all  hearts,  and  to  acknowledge  the  worth 
of  Beth's  unselfish  ambition,  to  live  for  others,  and 
make  home  happy  by  the  exercise  of  those  simple 
virtues  which  all  may  possess,  and  which  all  should 
love  and  value  more  than  talent,  wealth  or  beauty. 
And  Amy,  in  her  exile,  longed  eagerly  to  be  at  home, 
that  she  might  work  for  Beth,  feeling  now  that  no 
service  would  be  hard  or  irksome,  and  remembering, 
with  regi'etful  grief,  how  many  neglected  tasks  those 
willing  hands  had  done  for  her.  Laurie  haunted  the 
house  like  a  restless  ghost,   and  Mr.  Laurence  locked 


Dark  Days.  \  267 

the  grand  piano,  because  he  could  not  bear  to  be  re- 
minded of  the  young  neighbor  who  used  to  make  the 
twilight  pleasant  for  him.  Every  one  missed  Beth. 
The  milk-man,  baker,  grocer  and  butcher  inquired 
how  she  did  ;  poor  Mrs.  Hummel  came  to  beg  pardon 
for  her  thoughtlessness,  and  to  get  a  shroud  for  Minna  ; 
the  neighbors  sent  all  sorts  of  comforts  and  good 
wishes,  and  even  those  who  knew  her  best,  were  sur- 
prised to  find  how  many  friends  shy  little  Beth  had 
made. 

Meanwhile  she  lay  on  her  bed  with  old  Joanna  at 
her  side,  for  even  in  her  wanderings  she  did  not  forget 
her  forlorn  protege.  She  longed  for  her  cats,  but 
would  not  have  them  brought,  lest  they  should  get 
sick ;  and,  in  her  quiet  hours,  she  was  full  of  anxiety 
about  Jo.  She  sent  loving  messages  to  Amy,  bade 
them  tell  her  mother  that  she  would  write  soon ;  and 
often  begged  for  pencil  and  paper  to  try  to  say  a  word, 
that  father  might  not  think  she  had  neglected  him. 
But  soon  even  these  intervals  of  consciousness  ended, 
and  she  lay  hour  after  hour  tossing  to  and  fro  with  in- 
coherent words  on  her  lips,  or  sank  into  a  heavy  sleep 
which  brought  her  no  refreshment.  Dr.  Bangs  came 
twice  a  day,  Hannah  sat  up  at  night,  Meg  kept  a 
telegram  in  her  desk  all  ready  to  send  off  at  any 
minute,  and  Jo  never  stirred  from  Beth's  side. 

The  first  of  December  was  a  wintry  day  indeed  to 
them,  for  a  bitter  wind  blew,  snow  fell  fast,  and  the 
year  seemed  getting  ready  for  its  death.  When  Dr. 
Bangs  came  that  morning,  he  looked  long  at  Beth, 
held  the  hot  hand  in  both  his  own  a  minute,  and  laid  it 
gently  down,  saying,  in  a  low  tone,  to  Hannah,  — 


^p 


Little  Women. 


"If  Mrs.  March  can  leave  her  husband,  she*d  better 
be  sent  for." 

Hannah  nodded  without  speaking,  for  her  lips 
twitched  nei*vously  ;  Meg  dropped  down  into  a  chair 
as  the  strength  seemed  to  go  out  of  her  limbs  at  the 
sound  of  those  words,  and  Jo,  after  standing  with  a 
pale  face  for  a  minute,  ran  to  the  parlor,  snatched  up 
the  telegi'am,  and,  throwing  on  her  things,  rushed  out 
into  the  storm.  She  was  soon  back,  and,  while  noise- 
lessly taking  off  her  cloak,  Laurie  came  in  with  a 
letter,  saying  that  Mr.  March  was  mending  again.  Jo 
read  it  thankfully,  but  the  heavy  weight  did  not  seem 
lifted  off  her  heart,  and  ■  her  face  was  so  full  of  misery 
that  Laurie  asked,  quickly,  — 

"  What  is  it?  is  Beth  worse  }  " 

"  I've  sent  for  mother,"  said  Jo,  tugging  at  her  rub- 
ber boots  with  a  tragical  expression. 

"  Good  for  you,  Jo  !  Did  you  do  it  on  your  own 
responsibility.?"  asked  Laurie,  as  he  seated  her  in  the 
hall  chair,  and  took  off  the  rebellious  boots,  seeing  how 
her  hands  shook. 

"  No,  the  doctor  told  us  to." 

"  Oh,  Jo,  if  s  not  so  bad  as  that?  "  cried  Laurie,  with 
a  startled  face. 

"  Yes,  it  is  ;  she  don't  know  us,  she  don't  even  talk 
about  the  flocks  of  green  doves,  as  she  calls  the  vine 
leaves  on  the  wall ;  she  don't  look  like  my  Beth,  and 
there's  nobody  to  help  us  bear  it ;  mother  and  father 
both  gone,  and  God  seems  so  far  away  I  can't  find 
Him." 

As  the  tears  streamed  fast  down  poor  Jo's  cheeks, 
she  stretched  out  her  hand  in  a  helpless  sort  of  way, 


Dark  Days,  269 

as  if  groping  in  the  dark,  and  Laurie  took  it  in  his, 
whispering,  as  well  as  he  could,  with  a  lump  in  his 
throat,  — 

''  I'm  here,  hold  on  to  me,  Jo,  dear  !  " 

She  could  not  speak,  but  she  did  "  hold  on,"  and 
the  warm  grasp  of  the  friendly  human  hand  com- 
forted her  sore  heart,  and  seemed  to  lead  her  nearer 
to  the  Divine  arm  which  alone  could  uphold  her  in 
her  trouble.  Laurie  longed  to  say  something  tender 
and  comfortable,  but  no  fitting  words  came  to  him,  so 
he  stood  silent,  gently  stroking  her  bent  head  as  her 
mother  used  to  do.  It  was  the  best  thing  he  could 
have  done  ;  far  more  soothing  than  the  most  eloquent 
words,  for  Jo  felt  the  unspoken  sympathy,  and,  in  the 
silence,  learned  the  sweet  solace  which  affection  ad- 
ministers to  sorrow.  Soon  she  dried  the  tears  which 
had  relieved  her,  and  looked  up  with  a  grateful  face. 

"  Thank  you,  Teddy,  I'm  better  now  ;  I  don't  feel 
so  forlorn,  and  will  try  to  bear  it  if  it  comes." 

"  Keep  hoping  for  the  best ;  that  will  help  you  lots, 
Jo.  Soon  your  mother  will  be  here,  and  then  every- 
thing will  be  right." 

"  I'm  so  glad  father  is  better  ;  now  she  won't  feel  so 
bad  about  leaving  him.  Oh,  me !  it  does  seem  as  if 
all  the  troubles  came  in  a  heap,  and  I  got  the  heaviest 
part  on  my  shoulders,"  sighed  Jo,  spreading  her  wet 
handkerchief  over  her  knees,  to  dry. 

"Don't  Meg  pull  fair?"  asked  Laurie,  looking  in- 
dignant. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  she  tiies  to,  but  she  don't  love  Bethy  as  I 
do ;  and  she  won't  miss  her  as  I  shall.  Beth  is  my 
conscience,  and  I  canH  give  her  up  ;  I  can't !  I  can't !  *'■ 


270  Little  Women, 

Down  went  Jo's  face  into  the  wet  handkerchief, 
and  she  cried  despairingly ;  for  she  had  kept  up 
bravely  till  now,  and  never  shed  a  tear.  Laurie 
drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  but  could  not  speak 
till  he  had  subdued  the  choky  feeling  in  his  throat, 
and  steadied  his  lips.  It  might  be  unmanly,  but  he 
couldn't  help  it,  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  Presently,  as 
Jo's  sobs  quieted,  he  said,  hopefully,  "  I  don't  think 
she  will  die  ;  she's  so  good,  and  we  all  love  her  so 
much,  I  don't  believe  God  will  take  her  away  yet." 

''  The  good  and  dear  people  always  do  die,"  groaned 
Jo,  but  she  stopped  crying,  for  her  friend's  words 
cheered  her  up,  in  spite  of  her  own  doubts  and  fears. 

"  Poor  girl !  you're  worn  out.  It  isn't  like  you  to 
be  forlorn.     Stop  a  bit ;  I'll  hearten  you  up  in  a  jiffy." 

Laurie  went  off  two  stairs  at  a  time,  andjo  laid  her 
wearied  head  down  on  Beth's  little  brown  hood,  whicl 
no  one  had  thought  of  moving  from  the  table  where 
she  left  it.  It  must  have  possessed  some  magic,  for 
the  submissive  spirit  of  its  gentle  owner  seemed  to 
enter  into  Jo  ;  and,  when  Laurie  came  running  down 
with  a  glass  of  wine,  she  took  it  with  a  smile,  and 
said,  bravely,  "  I  drink  —  Health  to  my  Beth  !  You 
are  a  good  doctor,  Teddy,  and  such  a  comfortable 
friend  ;  how  can  I  ever  pay  you  ?  "  she  added,  as  the 
wine  refreshed  her  body,  as  the  kind  words  had  done 
her  troubled  mind. 

"I'll  send  in  my  bill,  by  and  by;  and  to-night  I'll 
give  you  something  that  will  warm  the  cockles  of  your 
heart  better  than  quarts  of  wine,"  said  Laurie,  beam- 
ing at  her  with  a  face  of  suppressed  satisfaction  at 
something. 


Dark  Days,  271 

"What  is  it?"  cried  Jo,  forgetting  her  woes  for  a 
minute,  in  her  wonder. 

"I  telegraphed  to  your  mother  yesterday,  and 
Brooke  answered  she'd  come  at  once,  and  she'll  be 
here  to-night,  and  everything  will  be  all  right.  Aren't 
you  glad  I  did  it?" 

Laurie  spoke  very  fast,  and  turned  red  and  excited 
all  in  a  minute,  for  he  had  kept  his  plot  a  secret,  for 
fear  of  disappointing  the  girls  or  harming  Beth.  Jo 
grew  quite  white,  flew  out  of  her  chair,  and  the 
moment  he  stopped  speaking  she  electrified  him  by 
throwing  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  crying  out, 
with  a  joyful  cry,  "  Oh,  Laurie  !  oh,  mother !  I  am  so 
glad  !  "  She  did  not  weep  again,  but  laughed  hyster- 
ically, and  trembled  and  clung  to  her  friend  as  if  she 
was  a  little  bewildered  by  the  sudden  news.  Laurie, 
though  decidedly  amazed,  behaved  with  great  pres- 
ence of  mind  ;  he  patted  her  back  soothingly,  and, 
finding  that  she  was  recovering,  followed  it  up  by  a 
bashful  kiss  or  two,  which  brought  Jo  round  at  once. 
Holding  on  to  the  banisters,  she  put  him  gently 
away,  saying,  breathlessly,  "  Oh,  don't !  I  didn't 
mean  to  ;  it  was  dreadful  of  me  ;  but  you  were  such  a 
dear  to  go  and  do  it  in  spite  of  Hannah,  that  I  couldn't 
help  flying  at  you.  Tell  me  all  about  it,  and  don't 
give  me  wine  again  ;  it  makes  me  act  so." 

"  I  don't  mind  ! "  laughed  Laurie,  as  he  settled  his 
tie.  "  Why,  you  see  I  got  fidgety,  and  so  did  grandpa. 
We  thought  Hannah  was  overdoing  the  authority 
iXisiness,  and  your  mother  ought  to  know.  She'd 
never  forgive  us  if  Beth,  —  well,  if  anything  happened, 
yon  know.     So  I  got  grandpa  to  say  it  was  high  time 


2/2  Little  Women. 

we  did  something,  and  off  I  pelted  to  the  office  yester- 
day, for  the  doctor  looked  sober,  and  Hannah  most 
took  my  head  off  when  I  proposed  a  telegram.  I 
never  can  bear  to  be  '  marmed  over  ; '  so  that  settled 
my  mind,  and  I  did  it.  Your  mother  will  come,  I 
know,  and  the  late  train  is  in  at  two,  A.  m.  I  shall  go 
for  her  ;  and  you've  only  got  to  bottle  up  your  rapture, 
and  keep  Beth  quiet,  till  that  blessed  lady  gets  here." 

"  Laurie,  you're  an  angel !  How  shall  I  ever  thank 
you.?" 

"  Fly  at  me  again ;  I  rather  like  it,"  said  Laurie, 
looking  mischievous,  —  a  thing  he  had  not  done  for  a 
fortnight. 

"No,  thank  you.  I'll  do  it  by  proxy,  when  your 
grandpa  comes.  Don't  tease,  but  go  home  and  rest, 
for  you'll  be  up  half  the  night.  Bless  you,  Teddy ; 
bless  you  ! " 

Jo  had  backed  into  a  corner  ;  and,  as  she  finished  her 
speech,  she  vanished  precipitately  into  the  kitchen, 
where,  she  sat  down  upon  a  dresser,  and  told  the 
assembled  cats  that  she  was  "  happy,  oh,  so  happy  !  " 
while  Laurie  departed,  feeling  that  he  had  made  rather 
a  neat  thing  of  it. 

"  That's  the  interferingest  chap  I  ever  see ;  but  I 
forgive  him,  and  do  hope  Mrs.  March  is  coming  oa 
right  away,"  said  Hannah,  with  an  air  of  relief,  when 
Jo  told  the  good  news. 

Meg  had  a  quiet  rapture,  and  then  brooded  over  the 
letter,  while  Jo  set  the  sick-room  in  order,  and  Han- 
nah "knocked  up  a  couple  of  pies  in  case  of  company 
unexpected."  A  breath  of  fresh  air  seemed  to  blow 
through  the  house,  and  something  better  than  sunshine 


Darh  Days,  273 

brightened  the  quiet  rooms ;  everything  appeared  to 
feel  the  hopeful  change  ;  Beth's  bird  began  to  chirp 
again,  and  a  half-blown  rose  was  discovered  on  Amy's 
bush  in  the  window ;  the  fires  seemed  to  burn  with 
unusual  cheeriness,  and  every  time  the  girls  met  their 
pale  faces  broke  into  smiles  as  they  hugged  one  another, 
whispering,  encouragingly,  "  Mother's  coming,  dear  ! 
mother's  coming  !  "  Every  one  rejoiced  but  Beth  ;  she 
lay  in  that  heavy  stupor,  alike  unconscious  of  hope  and 
joy,  doubt  and  danger.  It  was  a  piteous  sight,  —  the 
once  rosy  face  so  changed  and  vacant,  —  the  once  busy 
hands  so  weak  and  wasted,  —  the  once  smiling  lips 
quite  dumb,  —  and  the  once  pretty,  well-kept  hair 
scattered  rough  and  tangled  on  the  pillow.  All  day 
she  lay  so,  only  rousing  now  and  then  to  mutter, 
"  Water ! "  with  lips  so  parched  they  could  hardly 
shape  the  word  ;  all  day  Jo  and  Meg  hovered  over  her, 
watching,  waiting,  hoping,  and  trusting  in  God  and 
mother;  and  all  day  the  snow  fell,  the  bitter  wind 
raged,  and  the  hours  dragged  slowly  by.  But  night 
came  at  last;  and  every  time  the  clock  struck  the 
sisters,  still  sitting  on  either  side  the  bed,  looked  at 
each  other  with  brightening  eyes,  for  each  hour 
brought  help  nearer.  The  doctor  had  been  in  to  say 
that  some  change  for  better  or  worse  would  probably 
take  place  about  midnight,  at  which  time  he  would 
return. 

Hannah,  quite  worn  out,  lay  down  on  the  sofa  at 
the  bed's  foot,  and  fell  fast  asleep ;  Mr.  Laurence 
marched  to  and  fro  in  the  parlor,  feeling  that  he  would 
rather  face  a  rebel  battery  than  Mrs.  March's  anxious 
countenance  as  she  entered ;  Laurie  lay  on  the  rug, 
18 


274  Little  Women, 

pretending  to  rest,  but  staring  into  the  fire  with  the 
thoughtful  look  which  made  his  black  eyes  beautifully 
soft  and  clear. 

The  girls  never  forgot  that  night,  for  no  sleep  came 
to  them  as  they  kept  their  watch,  with  that  dreadful 
sense  of  powerlessness  which  comes  to  us  in  hours 
like  those. 

"  If  God  spares  Beth  I  never  will  complain  again," 
whispered  Meg,  earnestly. 

"  If  God  spares  Beth  I'll  try  to  love  and  serve  Him 
all  my  life,"  answered  Jo,  with  equal  fervor. 

"  I  wish  I  had  no  heart,  it  aches  so,"  sighed  Meg, 
after  a  pause. 

"  If  life  is  often  as  hard  as  this,  I  don't  see  how  we 
ever  shall  get  through  it,"  added  her  sister,  despond- 
ently. 

Here  the  clock  struck  twelve,  and  both  forgot  them- 
selves in  watching  Beth,  for  they  fancied  a  change 
passed  over  her  wan  face.  The  house  was  still  as 
death,  and  nothing  but  the  wailing  of  the  wind  broke 
the  deep  hush.  Weary  Hannah  slept  on,  and  no  one 
but  the  sisters  saw  the  pale  shadow  which  seemed  to 
fall  upon  the  little  bed.  An  hour  went  by,  and  nothing 
happened  except  Laurie's  quiet  departure  for  the  sta- 
tion. Another  hour,  —  still  no  one  came  ;  and  anxious 
fears  of  delay  in  the  storm,  or  accidents  by  the  way, 
or,  worst  of  all,  a  great  grief  at  Washington,  haunted 
the  poor  girls. 

It  was  past  two,  when  Jo,  who  stood  at  the  win- 
dow thinking  how  dreary  the  world  looked  in  its 
winding-sheet  of  snow,  heard  a  movement  by  the  bed, 
and,  turning  quickly,   saw  Meg  kneeling  before  their 


Dark  Days,  275 

mother's  easy-chair,  with  her  face  hidden.  A  dreadful 
fear  passed  coldly  over  Jo,  as  she  thought,  "  Beth  is 
dead,  and  Meg  is  afraid  to  tell  me." 

She  was  back  at  her  post  in  an  instant,  and  to 
her  excited  eyes  a  great  change  seemed  to  have  taken 
place.  The  fever  flush,  and  the  look  of  pain,  were 
gone,  and  the  beloved  little  face  looked  so  pale  and 
peaceful  in  its  utter  repose,  that  Jo  felt  no  desire  to 
weep  or  to  lament.  Leaning  low  over  this  dearest  of 
her  sisters,  she  kissed  the  damp  forehead  with  her 
heart  on  her  lips,  and  softly  whispered,  "  Good-by, 
my  Beth  ;  good-by  !  " 

As  if  waked  by  the  stir,  Hannah  started  out  of  her 
sleep,  hurried  to  the  bed,  looked  at  Beth,  felt  her 
hands,  listened  at  her  lips,  and  then,  throwing  her 
apron  over  her  head,  sat  down  to  rock  to  and  fro,  ex- 
claiming, under  her  breath,  "  The  fever's  turned  ;  she's 
sleepin  nat'ral ;  her  skin's  damp,  and  she  breathes  easy. 
Praise  be  given  !     Oh,  my  goodness  me  !  " 

Before  the  girls  could  believe  the  happy  truth,  the 
doctor  came  to  confirm  'it.  He  was  a  homely  man,  ^ 
but  they  thought  his  face  quite  heavenly  when  he  |p. 
smiled,  and  said,  with  a  fatherly  look  at  them,  "  Yes, 
my  dears  ;  I  think  the  little  girl  will  pull  through  this 
time.  Keep  the  house  quiet ;  let  her  sleep,  and  when 
she  wakes,  give  her  —  " 

What  they  were  to  give,  neither  heard  ;  for  both 
crept  into  the  dark  hall,  and,  sitting  on  the  stairs,  held 
each  other  close,  rejoicing  with  hearts  too  full  for 
words.  When  they  went  back  to  be  kissed  and  cud- 
dled by  faithful  Hannah,  they  found  Beth  lying,  as  she 
used  to  do,  with  her  cheek  pillowed  on  her  liand,  the 


276  Little  Women. 

dreadful  pallor  gone,  and  breathing  quietly,  as  if  just 
fallen  asleep. 

"  If  mother  would  only  come  now  ! "  said  Jo,  as  the 
winter  night  began  to  wane. 

"  See,"  said  Meg,  coming  up  with  a  white,  half- 
opened  rose,-  '*  I  thought  this  would  hardly  be  ready 
to  lay  in  Beth's  hand  to-morrow  if  she  —  went  away 
from  us.  But  it  has  blossomed  in  the  night,  and  now 
I  mean  to  put  it  in  my  vase  here,  so  that  when  the 
darling  wakes,  the  first  thing  she  sees  will  be  the  little 
rose,  and  mother's  face." 

Never  had  the  sun  risen  so  beautifully,  and  never 
had  the  world  seemed  so  lovely,  as  it  did  to  the  heavy 
eyes  of  Meg  and  Jo,  as  they  looked  out  in  the  early 
morning,  when  their  long,  sad  vigil  was  done. 

*'It  looks  like  a  fairy  world,"  said  Meg,  smiling  to. 
herself,  as  she  stood  behind  the  curtain  watching  the 
dazzling  sight. 

"  Hark  !  "  cried  Jo,  starting  to  her  feet. 

Yes,  there  was  a  sound  of  bells  at  the  door  below, 
a  cry  from  Hannah,  and  then  Laurie's  voice,  saying,  in 
It  joyful  whisper,  "  Girls  !  she's  come  !  she's  come !  " 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


AMY'S     WILL. 


WHILE  these  things  were  happening  at  home, 
Amy  was  having  hard  times  at  Aunt  March's. 
She  felt  her  exile  deeply,  and,  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  realized  how  much  she  was  beloved  and 
petted  at  home.  Aunt  March  never  petted  any  one  ; 
she  did  not  approve  of  it ;  but  she  meant  to  be  kind,  for 
the  well-behaved  little  girl  pleased  her  very  much,  and 
Aunt  March  had  a  soft  place  in  her  old  heart  for  her 
nephew's  children,  though  she  didn't  think  proper  to 
confess  it.  She  really  did  her  best  to  make  Amy 
happy,  but,  dear  me,  what  mistakes  she  made  !  Some 
old  people  keep  young  at  heart  in  spite  of  wrinkles 
and  gray  hairs,  can  sympathize  with  children's  little 
cares  and  joys,  make  them  feel  at  home,  and  can  hide 
wise  lessons  under  pleasant  plays,  giving  and  receiving 
friendship  in  the  sweetest  way.  But  Aunt  March  had 
not  this  gift,  and  she  worried  Amy  most  to  death  with 
her  rules  and  orders,  her  prim  ways,  and  long,  prosy 
talks.  Finding  the  child  more  docile  and  amiable 
than  her  sister,  the  old  lady  felt  it  her  duty  to  try  and 
counteract,  as  far  as  possible,  the  bad  effects  of  home 

277 


278  Little  Women, 

freedom  and  indulgence.  So  she  took  Amy  in  hand, 
and  taught  her  as  she  herself  had  been  taught  sixty 
years  ago  ;  a  process  which  carried  dismay  to  Amy's 
soul,  and  made  her  feel  like  a  fly  in  the  web  of  a  very 
strict  spider. 

She  had  to  wash  the  cups  every  morning,  and  polish 
up  the  old-fashioned  spoons,  the  fat  silver  teapot,  and 
the  glasses,  till  they  shone.  Then  she  must  dust  the 
room,  and  what  a  trying  job  that  was  !  Not  a  speck 
escaped  Aunt  March's  eye,  and  all  the  furniture  had 
claw  legs,  and  much  carving,  which  was  never  dusted 
to  suit.  Then  Polly  must  be  fed,  the  lap-dog  combed, 
and  a  dozen  trips  upstairs  and  down,  to  get  things  or 
deliver  orders,  for  the  old  lady  was  very  lame,  and 
seldom  left  her  big  chair.  After  these  tiresome  labors 
she  must  do  her  lessons,  which  was  a  daily  trial  of 
every  virtue  she  possessed.  Then  she  was  allowed 
one  hour  for  exercise  or  play,  and  didn't  she  enjoy  it.? 
Laurie  came  every  day,  and  wheedled  Aunt  March 
till  Amy  was  allowed  to  go  out  with  him,  when  they 
walked  and  rode,  and  had  capital  times.  After  dinner 
she  had  to  read  aloud,  and  sit  still  while  the  old  lady 
slept,  which  she  usually  did  for  an  hour,  as  she 
dropped  ofl'  over  the  first  page.  Then  patch-work  or 
towels  appeared,  and  Amy  sewed  with  outward  meek- 
ness and  inward  rebellion  till  dusk,  when  she  was  al- 
lowed to  amuse  herself  as  she  liked,  till  tea-time. 
The  evenings  were  the  v^orst  of  all,  for  Aunt  March 
fell  to  telling  long  stories  about  her  youth,  which  were 
so  unutterably  dull,  that  Amy  was  always  ready  to  go 
to  bed,  intending  to  cry  over  her  hard  fate,  but  usually 


Amy's  Will.  279 

going  to  sleep  before  she  had  squeezed  out  more  than 
a  tear  or  two.  \ 

If  it  had  not  been  for  Laurie  and  old  Esther,  the 
maid,  she  felt  that  she  never  could  have  got  through 
that  dreadful  time.  The  parrot  alone  was  enough  to 
drive  her  distracted,  for  he  soon  felt  that  she  did  not 
admire  him,  and  revenged  himself  by  being  as  mis- 
chievous as  possible.  He  pulled  her  hair  whenever 
she  came  near  him,  upset  his  bread  and  milk  to  plague 
her  when  she  had  newly  cleaned  his  cage,  made  Mop 
bark  by  pecking  at  him  while  Madame  dozed ;  called 
her  names  before  company,  and  behaved  in  all  re- 
spects like  a  reprehensible  old  bird.  Then  she  could 
not  endure  the  dog,  a  fat,  cross  beast,  who  snarled  and 
yelped  at  her  when  she  made  his  toilet,  and  who  laid 
on  his  back  with  all  his  legs  in  the  air,  and  a  most 
idiotic  expression  of  countenance,  when  he  wanted 
something  to  eat,  which  was  about  a  dozen. times  a 
day.  The  cook  was  bad-tempered,  the  old  coachman 
deaf,  and  Esther  the  only  one  who  ever  took  any 
notice  of  the  young  lady. 

Esther  was  a  French  woman,  who  had  lived  with 
"  Madame,"  as  she  called  her  mistress,  for  many  years, 
and  who  rather  tyrannized  over  the  old  lady,  who  could 
not  get  along  without  her.  Her  real  name  was  Estelle  ; 
but  Aunt  March  ordered  her  to  change  it,  and  she 
obeyed,  on  condition  that  she  was  never  asked  to 
change  her  religion.  She  took  a  fancy  to  Mad- 
emoiselle, and  amused  her  very  much,  with  odd 
stories  of  her  life  in  France,  when  Amy  sat  with  her 
while  she  got  up  Madame's  laces.  She  also  allowed 
her  to  roam  aboiH-   the  great  house,  and  examine  the 


28o  Little   Women, 

curious  and  pretty  things  stored  away  in  the  big 
wardrobes  and  the  ancient  cliests  ;  for  Aunt  March 
hoarded  like  a  magpie.  Amy's  chief  dehght  was  an 
Indian  cabinet  full  of  queer  drawers,  little  pigeon- 
holes, and  secret  places  in  which  were  kept  all  sorts 
of  ornaments,  some  precious,  some  merely  curious,  all 
more  or  less  antique.  To  examine  and  arrange  these 
things  gave  Amy  great  satisfaction,  especially  the  jewel 
cases ;  in  which,  on  velvet  cushions,  reposed  the  orna- 
ments which  had  adorned  a  belle  forty  years  ago. 
There  was  the  garnet  set  which  Aunt  March  wore 
when  she  came  out,  the  pearls  her  father  gave  her  on 
her  wedding  day,  her  lover's  diamonds,  the  jet 
mourning  rings  and  pins,  the  queei  lockets,  with 
portraits  of  dead  friends,  and  weeping  willows  made 
of  hair  inside,  the  baby  bracelets  her  one  little  daughter 
had  worn  ;  Uncle  March's  big  watch,  with  the  red  seal 
so  many  childish  hands  had  played  with,  and  in  a  box, 
all  by  itself,  lay  Aunt  March's  wedding  ring,  too  small 
now  for  her  fat  finger,  but  put  carefully  away,  like  the 
most  precious  jewel  of  them  all. 

"Which  would  Mademoiselle  choose  if  she  had  her 
will  ?  "  asked  Esther,  who  always  sat  near  to  watch 
over  and  lock  up  the  valuables. 

"  I  like  the  diamonds  best,  but  there  is  no  necklace 
among  them,  and  I'm  fond  of  necklaces,  they  are  so 
becoming.  I  should  choose  this  if  I  might,"  replied 
Amy,  looking  with  great  admiration  at  a  string  of  gold 
and  ebony  beads,  from  which  hung  a  heavy  cross  of 
the  same. 

"  I,  too,  covet  that,  but  not  as  a  necklace  ;  ah,  no  !  to 
me  it  is  a  rosarv,  and   as  such   I   should   use  it  like  a 


Amfs  WilL  281 

good  Catholic,"  said  Esther,  eyeing  the  handsome  thing 
wistfully. 

"  Is  it  meant  to  use  as  you  use  the  string  of  good- 
smelling  wooden  beads  hanging  over  your  glass?'* 
asked  Amy.  *• 

"  Truly,  yes,  to  pray  with.  It  would  be  pleasing  to 
the  saints  if  one  used  so  fine  a  rosary  as  this,  instead 
of  wearing  it  as  a  vain  bijou." 

"You  seem  to  take  a  deal  of  comfort  in  your  prayers, 
Esther,  and  always  come  down  looking  quiet  and 
satisfied.     I  wish  I  could." 

"  If  Mademoiselle  was  a  Catholic,  she  would  find 
true  comfort ;  but,  as  that  is  not  to  be,  it  would  be 
well  if  you  went  apart  each  day  to  meditate,  and  pray, 
as  did  the  good  mistress  whom  I  served  before 
Madame.  She  had  a  little  chapel,  and  in  it  found 
solacement  for  much  trouble." 

"Would  it  be  right  for  me  to  do  so  too?"  asked 
Amy,  who,  in  her  loneliness,  felt  the  need  of  help  of 
some  sort,  and  found  that  she  was  apt  to  forget  her 
little  book,  now  that  Beth  was  not  there  to  remind 
her  of  it. 

"  It  would  be  excellent  and  charming ;  and  I  shall 
gladly  arrange  the  little  dressing-room  for  you,  if  you 
like  it.  Say  nothing  to  Madame,  but  when  she  sleeps 
go  you  and  sit  alone  a  while  to  think  good  thoughts, 
and  ask  the  dear  God  to  preserve  your  sister." 

Esther  was  truly  pious,  and  quite  sincere  in  her  ad- 
vice ;  for  she  had  an  affectionate  heart,  and  felt  much 
for  the  sisters  in  their  anxiety.  Amy  liked  the  idea, 
and  gave  her  leave  to  arrange  the  light  closet  next  her 
room,  hoping  it  woiilJ  do  licr  good. 


2 82  Little  Women, 

"  I  wish  I  knew  where  all  these  pretty  things  would 
go  when  Aunt  March  dies,"  she  said,  as  she  slowly- 
replaced  the  shining  rosary,  and  shut  the  jewel  cases 
one  by  one. 

"  To  you  and  your  sisters.  I  know  it ;  Madame  con- 
fides in  me  ;  I  witnessed  her  will,  and  it  is  to  be  so," 
whispered  Esther,  smiling. 

"  How  nice  !  but  I  wish  she'd  let  us  have  them  now. 
Pro-cras-ti-nation  is  not  agreeable,"  observed  Amy, 
taking  a  last  look  at  the  diamonds. 

"•It  is  too  soon  yet  for  the  young  ladies  to  wear 
these  things.  The  first  one  who  is  affianced  will  have 
the  pearls — Madame  has  said  it ;  and  I  have  a  fancy 
that  the  little  turquoise  ring  will  be  given  to  you  when 
you  go,  for  Madame  approves  your  good  behavior 
and  charming  manners." 

"  Do  you  think  so  t  Oh,  I'll  be  a  lamb,  if  I  can  only 
have  that  lovely  ring !  It's  ever  so  much  prettier  than 
Kitty  Bryant's.  I  do  like  Aunt  March,  after  all ;  "  and 
Amy  tried  on  the  blue  ring  with  a  delighted  face,  and 
a  firm  resolve  to  earn  it. 

From  that  day  she  was  a  model  of  obedience,  and 
the  old  lady  complacently  admired  the  success  of  her 
training.  Esther  fitted  up  the  closet  with  a  little  table, 
placed  a  footstool  before  it,  and  over  it  a  picture, 
taken  from  one  of  the  shut-up  rooms.  She  thought  it 
was  of  no  great  value,  but,  being  appropriate,  she  bor- 
rowed it,  well  knowing  that  Madame  would  never 
know  it,  nor  care  if  she  did.  It  was,  however,  a  very 
valuable  copy  of  one  of  the  famous  pictures  of  the 
world,  and  Amy's  beauty-loving  eyes  were  never  tired 
of  looking  up  at  the  sweet  face  of  the  divine  mother, 


Amfs  Will.  283 

while  tender  thoughts  of  her  own  were  busy  at  her 
heart.  On  the  table  she  laid  her  little  Testament  and 
hymn-book,  kept  a  vase  always  full  of  the  best  flowers 
Laurie  brought  her,  and  came  every  day  to  "  sit  alone, 
thinking  good  thoughts,  and  praying  the  dear  God  to 
preserve  her  sister."  Esther  had  given  her  a  rosary 
of  black  beads,  with  a  silver  cross,  but  Amy  hung  it  up, 
and  did  not  use  it,  feeling  doubtful  as  to  its  fitness  for 
Protestant  prayers. 

The  little  girl  was  very  sincere  in  all  this,  for,  being 
left  alone  outside  the  safe  home-nest,  she  felt  the  need 
of  some  kind  hand  to  hold  by  so  sorely,  that  she  in- 
stinctively turned  to  the  strong  and  tender  Friend, 
whose  fatherly  love  most  closely  surrounds  His  little 
children.  She  missed  her  motiier's  help  to  understand 
and  rule  herself,  but  having  been  taught  where  to  look, 
she  did  her  best  to  find  the  way,  and  walk  in  it  con- 
fidingly. But  Amy  was  a  young  pilgrim,  and  just  now 
her  burden  seemed  very  heavy.  She  tried  to  forget 
herself,  to  keep  cheerful,  and  be  satisfied  with  doing 
right,  though  no  one  saw  or  praised  her  for  it.  In  her 
first  effort  at  being  very,  very  good,  she  decided  to 
make  her  will,  as  Aunt  March  had  done  ;  so  that  if  she 
did  fall  ill  and  die,  her  possessions  might  be  justly 
and  generously  divided.  It  cost  her  a  pang  even  to 
think  of  giving  up  the  little  treasures  which  in  her 
eyes  were  as  precious  as  the  old  lady's  jewels. 

During  one  of  her  play  hours  she  wrote  out  the 
important  document  as  well  as  she  could,  with  some 
help  from  Esther  as  to  certain  legal  terms ;  and,  when 
the  good-natured  Frenchwoman  had  signed  her  name, 
Amy  felt    relieved,   and   laid   it    by  to    show    Laurie, 


284  Little  Wo 7116 71, 

whom  she  wanted  as  a  second  witness.  As  it  was  a 
rainy  day,  she  went  up  stairs  to  amuse  herself  in  one 
of  the  large  chambers,  and  took  Polly  with  her  for 
company.  In  this  room  there  was  a  wardrobe  full  of 
old-fashioned  costumes,  with  which  Esther  allowed 
her  to  play,  and  it  was  her  favorite  amusement  to 
array  herself  in  the  faded  brocades,  and  parade  up  and 
down  before  the  long  mirror,  making  stately  courtesies, 
and  sw^eeping  her  train  about,  ^vith  a  rustle  which 
delighted  her  ears.  So  busy  was  she  on  this  day,  that 
she  did  not  hear  Laurie's  ring,  nor  see  his  face  peeping 
in  at  her,  as  she  gravely  promenaded  to  and  fro,  flii-t- 
ing  hei*  fan  and  tossing  her  head,  on  which  she  wore 
a  great  pink  turban,  contrasting  oddly  with  her  blue 
brocade  dress  and  yellow  quilted  petticoat.  She  was 
obliged  to  walk  carefully,  for  she  had  on  high-heeled 
shoes,  and,  as  Laurie  told  Jo  afterward,  it  was  a  com- 
ical sight  to  see  her  mince  along  in  her  gay  suit,  with 
Polly  sidling  and  bridling  just  behind  her,  imitating 
her  as  well  as  he  could,  and  occasionally  stopping  to 
laugh,  or  exclaim,  "Ain't  we  fine?  Get  along  you 
fright !     Hold  your  tongue  !     Kiss  me,  dear  ;  ha  !  ha  !  " 

Having  with  difficulty  restrained  an  explosion  of 
merriment,  lest  it  should  offend  lier  majesty,  Laurie 
tapped,  and  was  graciously  received. 

"  Sit  down  and  rest  while  I  put  tjiese  things  away  ; 
then  I  want  to  consult  you  about  a  very  serious  mat- 
ter," said  Amy,  when  she  had  shown  her  splendor, 
and  driven  Polly  into  a  corner.  "  That  bird  is  the 
trial  of  my  life,"  she  continued,  removing  the  pink 
mountain  from  her  ^ead,  while  Laurie  seated  himself 
astride    of    a    chair.      "  Ycsterdav,    when    aunt    was 


Amfs  WilL  285 

asleep,  and  I  was  trying  to  be  as  still  as  a  mouse, 
Polly  began  to  squall  and  flap  about  in  his  cage ;  so  I 
went  to  let  him  out,  and  found  a  big  spider  there.  I 
poked  it  out,  and  it  ran  under  the  book-case ;  Polly 
marched  straight  after  it,  stooped  down  and  peeped 
under  the  book-case,  saying,  in  his  funny  way,  with  a 
cock  of  his  eye,  '  Come  out  and  take  a  walk,  my  dear. 
I  couldnH  help  laughing,  which  made  Poll  swear,  and 
aunt  woke  up  and  scolded  us  both." 

"  Did  the  spider  accept  the  old  fellow's  invitation  ?  " 
asked  Laurie,  yawning. 

"  Yes  ;  out  it  came,  and  away  ran  Polly,  frightened 
to  death,  and  scrambled  up  on  aunt's  chair,  calling 
out,  '  Catch  her !  catch  her !  catch  her ! '  as  I  chased 
the  ^ider." 

"  That's  a  lie  !  Oh  lor !"  cried  the  parrot,  pecking 
at  Laurie's  toes. 

"  I'd  wring  your  neck  if  you  were  mine,  you  old 
torment,"  cried  Laurie,  shaking  his  fist  at  the  bird, 
who  put  his  head  on  one  side,  and  gravely  croaked, 
"  Allyluyer !  bless  your  buttons,  dear  !  " 

"Now  Pm  ready,"  said  Amy,  shutting  the  ward- 
robe, and  taking  a  paper  out  of  her  pocket.  "I  want 
you  to  read  that,  please,  and  tell  me  if  it  is  legal  and 
right.  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  do  it,  for  life  is  uncertain, 
and  I  don't  want  any  ill-feeling  over  my  tomb." 

Laurie  bit  his  lips,  and  turning  a  little  from  the 
pensive  speaker,  read  the  following  document,  with 
praiseworthy  gravity,  considering  the  spelling :  — 

"  MY   LAST   WILL   AND    TESTIMENT. 

"  I,  Amy  Curtis  March,  being  in  my  sane  mind,  do 


286  Little  Women, 

give  and  bequeethe  all  my  earthly  property  —  viz.  to 
wit :  —  namely 

"  To  my  father,  my  best  pictures,  sketches,  maps, 
and  works  of  art,  including  frames.  Also  my  $ioo, 
to  do  what  he  likes  with. 

"  To  my  mother,  all  my  clothes,  except  the  blue 
apron  with  pockets,  —  also  my  likeness,  and  my  medal, 
with  much  love. 

"To  my  dear  sister  Margaret,  I  give  my  turkquoise 
ring  (if  I  get  it),  also  my  green  box  with  the  doves 
on  it,  also  my  piece  of  real  lace  for  her  neck,  and  my 
sketch  of  her  as  a  memorial  of  her  '  little  girl.* 

"  To  Jo  I  leave  my  breast-pin,  the  one  mended 
with  sealing  wax,  also  my  bronze  inkstand  —  she  lost 
the  cover,  —  and  my  most  precious  plaster  rabbit,  be- 
cause I  am  sorry  I  burnt  up  her  story. 

"  To  Beth  (if  she  lives  after  me)  I  give  my  dolls 
and  the  little  bureau,  my  fan,  my  linen  collars  and  my 
new  slippers  if  she  can  wear  them  being  thin  when 
she  gets  well.  And  I  herewith  also  leave  her  my 
regret  that  I  ever  made  fun  of  old  Joanna. 

"  To  my  friend  and  neighbor  Theodore  Laurence  I 
bequeethe  my  paper  marshay  portfolio,  my  clay  model 
of  a  horse  though  he  did  say  it  hadn't  any  neck. 
Also  in  return  for  his  great  kindness  in  the  hour  of 
affliction  any  one  of  my  artistic  works  he  likes,  Noter 
Dame  is  the  best. 

"  To  our  venerable  benefactor  Mr.  Laurence  I  leave 
my  purple  box  with  a  looking  glass  in  the  cover  which 
will  be  nice  for  his  pens  and  remind  him  of  the  de- 
parted girl  who  thanks  him  for  his  favors  to  her 
family,  specially  Beth. 


Amfs  Will,  287 

"  I  wish  my  favorite  playmate  Kitty  Bryant  to  have 
the  blue  silk  apron  and  my  gold-bead  ring  with  a  kiss. 

"  To  Hannah  I  give  the  band-box  she  wanted  and 
all  the  patch  work  I  leave  hoping  she  '  will  remember 
me,  when  it  you  see.' 

"And  now  having  disposed  of  my  most  valuable 
property  I  hope  all  will  be  satisfied  and  not  blame  the 
dead.  I  forgive  every  one,  and  trust  we  may  all  meet 
when  the  trump  shall  sound.     Amen. 

"  To  this  will  and  testiment  I  set  my  hand  and  seal 
on  this  20th  day  of  Nov.  Anni  Domino  1861. 

"  Amy  Curtis  March. 

_-._.  C  ESTELLE    VaLNOR, 

"  Witnesses :  s  rr^  t  m 

^  Theodore  Laurence. 

# 

The  last  name  was  written  in  pencil,  and  Amy  ex- 
plained that  he  was  to  rewrite  it  in  ink,  and  seal  it  up 
for  her  properly. 

"What  put  it  into  your  head?  Did  anyone  tell 
you  about  Beth's  giving  away  her  things?"  asked 
Laurie,  soberly,  as  Amy  laid  a  bit  of  red  tape,  with 
sealing-wax,  a  taper,  and  a  standish  before  him. 

She  explained  ;  and  then  asked,  anxiously,  "  What 
about  Beth?" 

"  I'm  sorry  I  spoke  ;  but  as  I  did,  I'll  tell  you.  She 
felt  so  ill  one  day,  that  she  told  Jo  she  wanted  to  give 
her  piano  to  Meg,  her  bird  to  you,  and  the  poor  old 
doll  to  Jo,  who  would  love  it  for  her  sake.  She  was 
sorry  she  had  so  little  to  give,  and  left  locks  of  hair 
to  the  rest  of  us,  and  her  best  love  to  grandpa.  She 
never  thought  of  a  will." 

Laurie  was  signing  and  sealing  as  he   spoke,  and 


288  Little  Women, 

did  not  look  up  till  a  great  tear  dropped  on  the  paper. 
Amy's  face  was  full  of  trouble ;  but  she  only  said, 
"  Don't  people  put  sort  of  postscrips  to  their  wills, 
sometimes." 

"Yes;  'codicils,'  they  call  them." 

"  Put  one  in  mine  then  — •  that  I  wish  all  my  curls 
cut  off,  and  given  round  to  my  friends.  I  forgot  it ; 
but  I  want  it  done,  though  it  will  spoil  my  looks." 

Laurie  added  it,  smiling  at  Amy's  last  and  greatest 
sacrifice.  Then  he  amused  her  for  an  hour,  and  was 
much  interested  in  all  her  trials.  But  when  he  came 
to  go,  Amy  held  him  back  to  whisper,  with  trembling 
lips,  "Is  there  really  any  danger  about  Beth.^"' 

"  I'm  afraid  there  is  ;  but  we  must  hope  for  the  best, 
so  don't  cry,  dear  ; "  and  Laurie  put  his  arm  about  her 
with  a  brotherly  gesture,  which  was  very  comforting. 

When  he  had  gone,  she  went  to  her  little  chapel, 
and,  sitting  in  the  twilight,  prayed  for  Beth  with 
streaming  tears  and  an  aching  heart,  feeling  that  a 
million  turquoise  rings  would  not  console  her  for  the 
loss  of  her  gentle  little  sister. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

CONFIDENTIAL. 

I  DON'T  think  I  have  any  words  in  which  to  tell 
the  meeting  of  the  mother  and  daughters ;  such 
hours  are  beautiful  to  live,  but  very  hard  to  de- 
scribe, so  I  will  leave  it  to  the  imagination  of  my 
readers ;  merely  saying  that  the  house  was  full  of 
genuine  happiness,  and  that  Meg's  tender  hope  was 
realized  ;  for  when  Beth  woke  from  that  long,  healing 
sleep,  the  first  objects  on  which  her  eyes  fell  were  the 
little  rose  and  mother's  face.  Too  weak  to  wonder  at 
anything,  she  only  smiled,  and  nestled  close  into  the 
loving  arms  about  her,  feeling  that  the  hungry  longing 
was  satisfied  at  last.  Then  she  slept  again,  and  the 
girls  waited  upon  their  mother,  for  she  would  not  un- 
clasp the  thin  hand  which  clung  to  hers,  even  in  sleep. 
Hannah  had  "  dished  up  "  an  astonishing  breakfast  for 
the  traveller,  finding  it  impossible  to  vent  her  ex- 
citement in  any  other  way  ;  and  Meg  and  Jo  fed  their 
mother  like  dutiful  young  storks,  while  they  listened  to 
her  whispered  account  of  father's  state,  Mr.  Brooke's 
promise  to  stay  and  nurse  him,  the  delays  which  the 
storm  occasioned  on  the  homeward  journey,  and  the 
19  289 


290  Little   Women, 

unspeakable  comfort  Laurie's  hopeful  face  had  given 
her  when  she  arrived,  worn  out  with  fatigue,  anxiety 
and  cold. 

What  a  strange,  yet  pleasant  day  that  was  !  so  bril- 
liant and  gay  without,  for  all  the  world  seemed  abroad 
to  welcome  the  first  snow ;  so  quiet  and  reposeful 
within,  for  every  one  slept,  spent  with  watching,  and 
a  Sabbath  stillness  reigned  through  the  house,  while 
nodding  Hannah  mounted  guard  at  the  door.  With  a 
blissful  sense  of  burdens  lifted  off,  Meg  and  Jo  closed 
their  weary  eyes,  and  lay  at  rest  like  storm-beaten 
boats,  safe  at  anchor  in  a  quiet  harbor.  Mrs.  March 
would  not  leave  Beth's  side,  but  rested  in  the  big 
chair,  waking  often  to  look  at,  touch,  and  brood  over 
her  child,  like  a  miser  over  some  recovered  treasure. 

Laurie,  meanwhile,  posted  otf  to  comfort  Amy,  and 
told  his  story  so  well  that  Aunt  March  actually 
*'  sniffed "  herself,  and  never  once  said,  "I  told  you 
so."  Amy  came  out  so  strong  on  this  occasion,  that  I 
think  the  good  thoughts  in  the  little  chapel  really 
began  to  bear  fruit.  She  dried  her  tears  quickly,  re- 
strained her  impatience  to  see  her  mother,  and  never 
even  thought  of  the  turquoise  ring,  when  the  old  lady 
heartily  agreed  in  Laurie's  opinion,  that  she  behaved 
*'  like  a  capital  little  woman."  Even  Polly  seemed 
impressed,  for  he  called  her  "good  girl,"  blessed  her 
buttons,  and  begged  her  to  '•  come  and  take  a  walk, 
dear,"  in  his  most  affable  tone.  She  would  very 
gladly  have  gone  out  to  enjoy  the  bright  wintry 
weather  ;  but,  discovering  that  Laurie  was  dropping 
with  sleep  in  spite  of  manful  efforts  to  conceal  the 
fact,  she  persuaded  him  to  rest  on  the  sofa,  while  she 


Confidential.  291 

wrote  a  note  to  her  mother.  She  was  a  long  time 
about  it ;  and,  when  returned,  he  was  stretched  out  with 
both  arms  under  his  head,  sound  asleep,  while  Aunt 
March  had  pulled  down  the  curtains,  and  sat  doing 
nothing  in  an  unusual  fit  of  benignity. 

After  a  while,  they  began  to  think  he  was  not  going 
to  wake  till  night,  and  I'm  not  sure  that  he  would,  had 
he  not  been  effectually  roused  by  Amy's  cry  of  joy  at 
sight  of  her  mother.  There  probably  were  a  good 
many  happy  little  girls  in  and  about  the  city  that  day, 
but  it  is  my  private  opinion  that  Amy  was  the  happiest 
of  all,  when  she  sat  in  her- mother's  lap  and  told  her 
trials,  receiving  consolation  and  compensation  in  the 
shape  of  approving  smiles  and  fond  caresses.  They 
were  alone  together  in  the  chapel,  to  which  her  mother 
did  not  object  when  its  purpose  was  explained  to  her. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  like  it  very  much,  dear,"  she 
said,  looking  from  the  dusty  rosary  to  the  well-worn 
little  book,  and  th«  lovely  picture  with  its  garland  of 
evergreen.  "It  is  an  excellent  plan  to  haA'-e  some 
place  where  we  can  go  to  be  quiet,  when  things  vex  or 
grieve  us.  There  are  a  good  many  hard  times  in  this 
life  of  ours,  but  we  can  always  bear  them  if  we  ask 
help  in  the  right  way.  I  think  my  little  girl  is 
learning  this?" 

"  Yes,  mother  ;  and  when  I  go  home  I  mean  to  have 
a  corner  in  the  big  closet  to  put  my  books,  and  the 
copy  of  that  picture  which  I've  tried  to  make.  The 
woman's  face  is  not  good,  it's  too  beautiful  for  me  to 
draw,  but  the  baby  is  done  better,  and  I  love  it  very 
much.  I  like  to  think  He  was  a  little  child  once,  for 
then  I  don't  seem  so  far  away,  and  that  helps  me." 


292  Little   Women, 

As  Amy  pointed  to  the  smilino^  Christ-child  on  his 
mother's  knee,  Mrs.  March  saw  something  on  the  lifted 
hand  that  made  her  smile.  She  said  nothing,  but 
Amy  understood  the  look,  and,  after  a  minute's  pause, 
she  added,  gravely,  — 

"  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  this,  but  I  forgot 
it.  Aunt  gave  me  the  ring  today  ;  she  called  me  to 
her  and  kissed  m.e,  and  put  it  on  my  finger,  and  said  I 
was  a  credit  to  her,  and  she'd  like  to  keep  me  always. 
She  gave  that  funny  guard  to  keep  the  torquoise  on, 
as  it's  too  big.     I'd  like  to  wear  them,  mother  ;  can  I }  " 

'■'  They  are  very  pretty,  but  I  think  you're  rather  too 
young  for  such  ornaments.  Amy,"  said  Mrs.  March, 
looking  at  the  plump  little  hand,  with  the  band  of  sky- 
blue  stones  on  the  forefinger,  and  the  quaint  guard, 
formed  of  two  tiny,  golden  hands  clasped  together. 

"  I'll  try  not  to  be  vain,"  said  Amy  ;  "  I  don't  think 
I  like  it,  only  because  it's  so  pretty  ;  but  I  want  to  wear 
it  as  the  girl  in  the  story  wore  her  bracelet,  to  remind 
me  of  something." 

"  Do  you  mean  Aunt  March?"  asked  her  mother, 
laughing. 

"No,  to  remind  me  not  to  be  selfish."  Amy  looked 
so  earnest  and  sincere  about  it,  that  her  mother  stopped 
laughing,  and  listened  respectfully  to  the  little  plan. 

"  I've  thought  a  great  deal  lately  about  '  my  bundle 
of  naughties,'  and  being  selfish  is  the  largest  one  in  it ; 
so  I'm  going  to  try  hard  to  cure  it,  if  I  can.  Beth  isn't 
selfish,  and  that's  the  reason  every  one  loves  her,  and 
feels  so  bad  at  the  thoughts  of  losing  her.  People 
wouldn't  feel  half  so  bad  about  me  if  I  was  sick,  and  I 
don't  deserve  to  have  them  ;  but  I'd  like  to  be  loved 


Confidential,  293 

and  missed  by  a  great  many  friends,  so  I'm  going  to 
try  and  be  like  Beth  all  I  can.  I'm  apt  to  forget  my 
resolutions  ;  but,  if  I  had  something  always  about  me  to 
remind  me,  I  guess  I  should  do  better.  May  I  try 
this  way  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  have  more  faith  in  the  corner  of  the  big 
closet.  Wear  your  ring,  dear,  and  do  your  best ;  I 
think  you  will  prosper,  for  the  sincere  wish  to  be  good 
is  half  the  battle.  Now,  I  must  go  back  to  Beth. 
Keep  up  your  heart,  little  daughter,  and  we  will  soon 
have  you  home  again." 

That  evening,  while  Meg  was  writing  to  her  father, 
to  report  the  traveller's  safe  arrival,  Jo  slipped  up- 
stairs into  Beth's  room,  and,  finding  her  mother  in  her 
usual  place,  stood  a  minute  twisting  her  fingers  in  her 
hair,  with  a  worried  gesture  and  an  undecided  look. 

"What  is  it,  deary.?"  asked  Mrs.  March,  holding 
out  her  hand  with  a  face  which  invited  confidence. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  something,  mother." 

"About  Meg?" 

"  How  quick  you  guessed  !  Yes,  it's  about  her,  and 
though  it's  a  little  thing,  it  fidgets  me." 

"  Beth  is  asleep  ;  speak  low,  and  tell  me  all  about 
it.  That  Moffat  hasn't  been  here,  I  hope.^*"  asked 
Mrs.  March,  rather  sharply. 

"  No ;  I  should  have  shut  the  door  in  his  face  if 
he  had,"  said  Jo,  settling  herself  on  the  floor  at  her 
mother's  feet.  "  Last  summer  Meg  left  a  pair  of 
gloves  over  at  the  Laurences,  and  only  one  was  re- 
turned. We  forgot  all  about  it,  till  Teddy  told  me 
that  Mr.  Brooke  had  it.  He  kept  it  in  his  waistcoat 
pocket,  and   once  it  fell  out,  and  Teddy  joked  him 


294  Little  Women, 

about  it,  and  Mr.  Brooke  owned  that  he  liked  Meg, 
but  didn't  dare  say  so,  she  was  so  young  and  he  so 
poor.     Now  isn't  it  a  di-eadivA  state  of  things  ?  " 

"Do  3^ou  think  Meg  cares  for  him? "  asked  Mrs. 
March,  with  an  anxious  look. 

"  Mercy  me  !  I  don't  know  anything  about  love, 
and  such  nonsense  !  "  cried  Jo,  with  a  funny  mixture 
of  interest  and  contempt.  "  In  novels,  the  girls  show 
it  by  starting  and  Blushing,  fainting  away,  growing 
thin,  and  acting  like  fools.  Now  Meg  don't  do  any- 
thing of  the  sort ;  she  eats  and  drinks,  and  sleeps,  like 
a  sensible  creature ;  she  looks  straight  in  my  face 
when  I  talk  about  that  man,  and  only  blushes  a  little 
bit  when  Teddy  jokes  about  lovers.  I  forbid  him  to 
do  it,  but  he  don't  mind  me  as  he  ought." 

"  Then  you  fancy  that  Meg  is  not  interested  in 
John?" 

"  Who  ?  "  cried  Jo,  staring. 

"  Mr.  Brooke  ;  I  call  him  'John  '  now  ;  w^e  fell  into 
the  vv^ay  of  doing  so  at  the  hospital,  and  he  likes  it." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  I  knov^  you'll  take  his  part ;  he's  been 
good  to  father,  and  you  won't  send  him  away,  but  let 
Meg  marry  him,  if  she  wants  to.  Mean  thing !  to  go 
petting  pa  and  truckling  to  you,  just  to  wheedle  you 
into  liking  him  ; "  and  Jo  pulled  her  hair  again  with  a 
wrathful  tweak. 

'•'  My  dear,  don't  get  angry  about  it,  and  I  will 
tell  you  how  it  happened.  John  went  with  me  at 
Mr.  Laurence's  request,  and  was  so  devoted  to  poor 
father,  that  we  couldn't  help  getting  fond  of  him.  He 
was  perfectly  open  and  honorable  about  Meg,  for  he 
told  us  he   loved  her ;   but  would  earn  a  comfortable 


Confidential,  295 

home  before  he  asked  her  to  marry  him.  He  only 
wanted  our  leave  to  love  her  and  work  for  her,  and 
the  right  to  make  her  love  him  if  he  could.  He.  is  a 
truly  excellent  young  man,  and  we  could  not  refuse 
to  listen  to  him  ;  but  I  will  not  consent  to  Meg's  en- 
gaging herself  so  young." 

"  Of  course  not ;  it  would  be  idiotic  !  I  knew  there 
was  mischief  brewing ;  I  felt  it ;  and  now  it's  worse 
than  I  imagined.  I  just  wish  I  could  marry  Meg 
myself,  and  keep  her  safe  in  the  family." 

This  odd  arrangement  made  Mrs.  March  smile  ;  but 
she  said,  gravely,  "Jo,  I  confide  in  you,  and  don't 
wish  you  to  say  anything  to  Meg  yet.  When  John 
comes  back,  and  I  see  them  together,  I  can  judge 
better  of  her  feelings  toward  him." 

"  She'll  see  his  in  those  handsome  eyes  that  she  talks 
about,  and  then  it  will  be  all  up  with  her.  She's  got 
such  a  soft  heart,  it  will  melt  like  butter  in  the  sun  if 
any  one  looks  sentimentally  at  her.  She  read  the 
short  reports  he  sent  more  than  she  did  your  letters, 
and  pinched  me  when  I  spoke  of  it,  and  likes  brown 
eyes,  and  don't  think  John  an  ugly  name,  and  she'll 
go  and  fall  in  love,  and  there's  an  end  of  peace  and 
fun,  and  cosy  times,  together.  I  see  it  all !  they'll  go 
lovering  round  the  house,  and  we  shall  have  to  dodge  ; 
Meg  will  be  absorbed,  and  no  good  to  me  any  more  ; 
Brooke  will  scratch  up  a  fortune  somehow,  —  carry 
her  off  and  make  a  hole  in  the  family  ;  and  I  shall 
break  my  heart,  and  everything  will  be  abominably 
uncomfortable.  Oh,  deary  me  !  v^'hy  weren't  we  all 
boys  ?  then  there  wouldn't  be  any  bother  !  " 

Jo  leaned  her  chin  on  her  knees,  in  a  disconsolate 


296  Little  Womeu, 

attitude,  and  shook  her  fist  at  the  reprehensible  John. 
Mrs.  March  sighed,  and  Jo  looked  up  with  an  air  of 
lelief. 

''You  don't  like  it,  mother?  I'm  glad  of  it;  let's 
send  him  about  his  business,  and  not  tell  Meg  a  word 
of  it,  but  all  be  jolly  together  as  we  always  have 
been." 

"  I  did  wrong  to  sigh,  Jo.  It  is  natural  and  right 
you  should  all  go  to  homes  of  your  own,  in  time  ;  but 
I  do  want  to  keep  my  girls  as  long  as  I  can ;  and  I 
am  sorry  that  this  happened  so  soon,  for  Meg  is  only 
seventeen,  and  it  will  be  some  years  before  John  can 
make  a  home  for  her.  Your  father  and  I  have  agreed 
that  she  shall  not  bind  herself  in  any  way,  ■  nor  be 
married,  before  twenty.  If  she  and  John  love  one 
another,  they  can  wait,  and  test  the  love  by  doing  so. 
She  is  conscientious,  and  I  have  no  fear  of  her  treat- 
ing him  unkindly.  My  pretty,  tender-hearted  girl !  I 
hope  things  will  go  happily  with  her." 

"Hadn't  you  rather  have  her  marry  a  rich  man?" 
asked  Jo,  as  her  mother's  voice  faltered  a  little  over 
the  last  words. 

"  Money  is  a  good  and  useful  thing,  Jo  ;  and  I  hope 
my  girls  will  never  feel  the  need  of  it  too  bitterly,  nor 
be  tempted  by  too  much.  I  should  like  to  know  that 
John  was  firmly  established  in  some  good  business, 
which  gave  him  an  income  large  enough  to  keep 
free  from  debt,  and  make  Meg  comfortable.  I'm  not 
ambitious  for  a  splendid  fortune,  a  fashionable  posi- 
tion, or  a  great  name  for  my  girls.  If  rank  and 
money  come  with  love  and  virtue,  also,  I  should 
accept  them  gi-atefuUy,  and  enjoy  your  good  fortune  ; 


Confidential,  297 

but  I  know,  by  experience,  how  much  genuine  hap- 
piness can  be  had  in  a  plain  little  house,  where  the 
daily  bread  is  earned,  and  some  privations  give  sweet- 
ness to  the  few  pleasures ;  I  am  content  to  see  Meg 
begin  humbly,  for,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  she  will  be 
rich  in  the  possession  of  a  good  man's  heart,  and 
that  is  better  than  a  fortune." 

"  I  understand,  mother,  and  quite  agree ;  but  Fm 
disappointed  -about  Meg,  for  I'd  planned  to  have  her 
marry  Teddy  by  and  by,  and  sit  in  the  lap  of  luxury 
all  her  days.  Wouldn't  it  be  nice .? "  asked  Jo,  looking 
up  with  a  brighter  face. 

"  He  is  younger  than  she,  you  know,"  began  Mrs. 
March  ;  but  Jo  broke  in,  — 

"  Oh,  that  don't  matter ;  he's  old  for  his  age,  and 
tall ;  and  can  be  quite  grown-up  in  his  manners,  if  he 
likes.  Then  he's  rich,  and  generous,  and  good,  and 
loves  us  all ;  and  /  say  it's  a  pity  my  plan  is  spoilt." 

"'  I'm  afraid  Laurie  is  hardly  grown-up  enough  for 
Meg,  and  altogether  too  much  of  a  weathercock,  just 
now,  for  any  one  to  depend  on.  Don't  make  plans, 
Jo ;  but  let  time  and  their  own  hearts  mate  your 
friends.  We  can't  meddle  safely  in  such  matters,  and 
had  better  not  get  '  romantic  rubbish,'  as  you  call  it, 
into  our  heads,  lest  it  spoil  our  friendship." 

"Well,  I  won't;  but  I  hate  to  see  things  going  all 
criss-cross,  and  getting  snarled  up,  when  a  pull  here, 
and  a  snip  there,  would  straighten  it  out.  I  wish 
wearing  flat-irons  on  our  heads  would  keep  us  from 
growing  up.  But  buds  will  be  roses,  and  kittens, 
cats,  —  more's  the  pity  !  " 

"What's   that   about   flat-irons   and   cats?"    asked 


298  Little  Women. 

Meg,  as  she  crept  into  the  room,  with  the  finished 
letter  in  her  hand. 

"  Only  one  of  my  stupid  speeches.  I'm  going  to 
bed  ;  come  on,  Peggy,"  said  Jo,  unfolding  herself,  like 
an  animated  puzzle. 

"  Quite  right,  and  beautifully  written.  Please  add 
that  I  send  my  love  to  John,"  said  Mrs.  March,  as  she 
glanced  over  the  letter,  and  gave  it  back. 

"Do  you  call  him  'John'?"  asked  Meg,  smiling, 
with  her  innocent  eyes  looking  down  into  her  mother's. 

"  Yes ;  he  has  b.een  like  a  son  to  us,  and  we  are 
very  fond  of  him,"  replied  Mrs.  March,  returning  the 
look  with  a  keen  one. 

"  I'm  glad  of  that ;  he  is  so  lonely.  Good-night, 
mother,  dear.  It  is  so  inexpressibly  comfortable  to 
have  you  here,"  was  Meg's  quiet  answer. 

The  kiss  her  mother  gave  her  was  a  very  tender 
one  ;  and,  as  she  went  away,  Mrs.  March  said,  with  a 
mixture  of  satisfaction  and  regret,  "  She  does  not  love 
John  yet,  but  will  soon  learn  to." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

LAURIE    MAKES    MISCHIEF,    AND  JO    MAKES    PEACE. 

JO'S  face  was  a  study  next  day,  for  the  secret  rather 
weighed  upon  her,  and  she  found  it  hard  not  to 
look  mysterious  and  important.  Meg  observed 
it,  but  did  not  trouble  herself  to  make  inquiries,  for  she 
had  learned  that  the  best  way  to  manage  Jo  was  by 
the  law  of  contraries,  so  she*  felt  sure  of  being  told 
everything  if  she  did  not  ask.  She  was  rather  sur- 
prised, therefore,  when  the  silence  remained  unbroken, 
and  Jo  assumed  a  patronizing  air,  which  decidedly 
aggravated  Meg,  who  in  her  turn  assumed  an  air  of 
dignified  reserve,  and  devoted  herself  to  her  mother. 
This  left*  Jo  to  her  own  devices  ;  for  Mrs.  March  had 
tal^n  her  place  as  nurse,  and  bid  her  rest,  exercise,  and 
amuse  herself  after  her  long  confinement.  Amy  being 
gone,  Laurie  was  her  only  refuge  ;  and,  much  as  she 
enjoyed  his  society,  she  rather  dreaded  him  just  then, 
for  he  was  an  incorrigible  tease,  and  she  feared  he 
would  coax  her  secret  from  her. 

She  was  quite  right ;  for  the  mischief-loving  lad  no 
sooner  suspected  a  mystery,  than  he  set  himself  to 
finding   it   out,   and  led  Jo  a  trying  life  of  it.      He 

299 


300  Litte   Women, 

wheedled,  bribed,  ridiculed,  threatened  and  scolded  ; 
affected  indifference,  that  he  might  surprise  the  truth 
from  her ;  declared  he  knew,  then  that  he  didn't  care  ; 
and,  at  last,  by  dint  of  perseverance,  he  satisfied  himself 
that  it  concerned  Meg  and  Mr.  Brooke.  Feeling  in- 
dignant that  he  was  not  taken  into  his  tutor's  con- 
fidence, he  set  his  wits  to  work  to  devise  some  proper 
retaliation  for  the  slight. 

Meg  meanwhile  had  apparently  forgotten  the  matter, 
and  was  absorbed  in  preparations  for  her  father's  re- 
turn ;  but  all  of  a  sudden  a  change  seemed  to  come 
over  her,  and,  for  a  day  or  two,  she  was  quite  unlike 
herself.  She  started  when  spoken  to,  blushed  when 
looked  at,  was  very  quiet,  and  sat  over  her  sewing 
with  a  timid,  troubled  look  on  her  face.  To  her 
mother's  inquiries  she  answered  that  she  was  quite 
well,  and  Jo's  she  silenced  by  begging  to  be  let  alone. 

"She  feels  it  in  the  air  —  love,  I  mean — and  she's 
going  very  fast.  She's  got  most  of  the  symptoms,  is 
twittery  and  cross,  don't  eat,  lies  awake,  and  mopes 
in  corners.  I  caught  her  singing  that  song  about  '  the 
silver-voiced  brook,'  and  once  she  said  'John,'  as  you 
do,  and  then  turned  as  red  as  a  poppy.  Whatever 
shall  we  do  ? "  said  Jo,  looking  ready  for  any  measures, 
however  violent. 

"Nothing  but  wait.  Let  her  alone,  be  kind  and 
patient,  and  father's  coming  will  settle  everything,'* 
replied  her  mother. 

"  Here's  a  note  to  you,  Meg,  all  sealed  up.  How 
odd  !  Teddy  never  seals  mine,"  said  Jo,  next  day,  as 
she  distributed  the  contents  of  the  little  post-office. 

Mrs,  March  and  Jo  were  deep  in  their  own  affairs, 


Laurie  makes  Mischief,  301 

when  a  sound  from  Meg  made  them  look  up  to  see 
her  staring  at  her  note,  with  a  frightened  face. 

"My  child,  w4iat  is  it^"  cried  her  mother,  running 
to  her,  while  Jo  tried  to  take  the  paper  which  had  done 
the  mischief. 

"  It's  all  a  mistake  —  he  didn't  send  it —  oh,  Jo,  how 
could  you  do  it }  "  and  Meg  hid  her  face  in  her  hands, 
crying  as  if  her  heart  was  quite  broken. 

"Me!  I've  done  nothing!  What's  she  talking 
about?"  cried  Jo,  bewildered. 

Meg's  mild  eyes  kindled  with  anger  as  she  pulled 
a  crumpled  note  from  her  pocket,  and  threw  it  at  Jo, 
saying,  reproachfully,  — 

"  You  wrote  it,  and  that  bad  boy  helped  you.  How 
could  you  be  so  rude,  so  mean,  and  cruel  to  us  both.''  " 

Jo  hardly  heard  her,  for  she  and  her  mother  were 
reading  the  note,  which  was  written  in  a  peculiar  hand. 

"My  Dearest  Margaret, — 

"I  can  no  longer  restrain  my  passion,  and  must 
know  my  fate  before  I  return.  I  dare  not  tell  your 
parents  yet,  but  I  think  they  would  consent  if  they 
knew  that  we  adored  one  another.  Mr.  Laurence 
will  help  me  to  some  good  place,  and  then,  my  sweet 
girl,  you  will  make  me  happy.  I  implore  you  to  say 
nothing  to  your  family  yet,  but  to  send  one  word  of 
hope  through  Laurie  to 

"  Your  devoted 

"John." 

"  Oh,  the  little  villain !  that's  the  way  he  meant  to 
pay  me  for  keeping  my  word  to  mother.     I'll  give  him 


302  Little  Women, 

a  hearty  scolding,  and  bring  him  over  to  beg  pardon," 
cried  Jo,  burning  to  execute  immediate  justice.  But 
her  mother  held  her  back,  saying,  with  a  look  she 
seldom  wore,  — 

''  Stop',  Jo,  3^ou  must  clear  yourself  first.  You  have 
played  so  man}'  pranks,  that  I  am  afraid  you  have  had 
a  hand  in  this." 

"  On  my  word,  mother,  I  haven't !  I  never  saw 
that  note  before,  and  don't  know  anything  about  it,  as 
true  as  I  live  !  "  said  Jo,  so  earnestly,  that  they  believed 
her.  "  If  I  had  taken  a  part  in  it  I'd  have  done  it 
better  than  this,  and  have  written  a  sensible  note.  I 
should  think  you'd  have  known  Mr.  Brooke  wouldn't 
write  such  stuff  as  that,"  she  added,  scornfully  tossing 
down  the  paper. 

"  It's  like  his  writing,"  faltered  Meg,  comparing  it 
with  the  note  in  her  hand. 

"  Oh,  Meg,  you  didn't  answer  it?  "  cried  Mrs.  March, 
quickly. 

"Yes,  I  did  !  "  and  Meg  hid  her  face  again,  over- 
come with  shame. 

"  Here's  a  scrape  !  Do  let  me  bring  that  wicked 
boy  over  to  explain,  and  be  lectured.  I  can't  rest  till 
I  get  hold  of  him  ;  "  and  Jo  made  for  the  door  again. 

"  Hush !  let  me  manage  this,  for  it  is  worse  than  I 
thought.  Margaret,  tell  me  the  whole  story,"  com- 
manded Mrs.  March,  sitting  down  by  Meg,  yet  keeping 
hold  of  Jo,  lest  she  should  fly  off. 

"I  received  the  first  letter  from  Laurie,  who  didn't 
look  as  if  he  knew  anything  about  it,"  began  Meg, 
without  looking  up.  "  I  was  worried  at  first,  and 
meant  to  tell  you  ;  then  I  remembered  how  you  liked 


Laurie  makes  Mischief.  303 

Ml.  Brooke,  so  I  thought  you  wouldn't  mind  if  I  kept 
my  little  secret  for  a  few  days.  I'm  so  silly  that  I 
liked  to  think  no  one  knew  ;  and,  while  I  was  deciding 
what  to  say,  I  felt  like  the  girls  in  books,  who  have 
such  things  to  do.  Forgive  me,  mother,  I'm  paid  for 
my  silliness  now ;  I  never  can  look  him  in  the  face 
again." 

"  What  did  you  say  to  him? "  asked  Mrs.  March. 

"  I  only  said  I  was  too  young  to  do  anything  about 
it  yet ;  that  I  didn't  wish  to  have  secrets  from  you,  and 
he  must  speak  to  father.  I  was  very  grateful  for  his 
kindness,  and  would  be  his  friend,  but  nothing  more, 
for  a  long  while." 

Mrs.  March  smiled,  as  if  well  pleased,  and  Jo  clapped 
her  hands,  exclaiming,  with  a  laugh, — 

"  You  are  almost  equal  to  Caroline  Percy,  who  was 
a  pattern  of  prudence  !  Tell  on,  Meg.  What  did  he 
say  to  that  ?  " 

"  He  writes  in  a  different  way  entirely  ;  telling  me 
that  he  never  sent  any  love-letter  at  all,  and  is  very 
sorry  that  my  roguish  sister,  Jo,  should  take  such 
liberties  with  our  names.  It's  very  kind  and  re- 
spectful, but  think  how  dreadful  for  me  !  " 

Meg  leaned  against  her  mother,  looking  the  image 
of  despair,  and  Jo  tramped  about  the  room,  calling 
Laurie  names.  All  of  a  sudden  she  stopped,  caught 
up  the  two  notes,  and,  after  looking  at  them  closely, 
said,  decidedly,  "  I  don't  believe  Brooke  ever  saw 
either  of  these  letters.  Teddy  wrote  both,  and  keeps 
yours  to  crow  over  me  with,  because  I  wouldn't  tell 
him  my  secret."  0 

"  Don't  have  any  secrets,  Jo ;  tell  it  to  mother,  and 


304  Little  Women. 

keep  out  of  trouble,  as  I  should  have  done,"  said 
Meg,  warningly. 

''  Bless  you,  child  !  mother  told  me." 

"  That  will  do,  Jo*  I'll  comfort  Meg  while  you  go 
and  get  Laurie.  I  shall  sift  the  matter  to  the  bottom, 
and  put  a  stop  to  such  pranks  at  once." 

Away  ran  Jo,  and  Mrs.  March  ^ntly  told  Meg  Mr. 
Brooke's  real  feelings.  "  Now,  dear,  what  are  your 
own.f*  Do  you  love  him  enough  to  wait  till  he  can 
m^ke  a  home  for  you,  or  will  you  keep  yourself  quite 
M-ee  for  thfe  present }  " 

"  I've  been  so  scared  and  worried,  I  don't  want  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  lovers  for  a  long  while,  — 
perhaps  never,"  answered  Meg,  petulantly.  "  If  John 
doesn't  know  anything  about  this  nonsense,  don't  tell 
him,  and  make  Jo  and  Laurie  hold  their  tongues.  I 
won't  be  deceived  and  plagued,  and  made  a  fool  of,  — 
it's  a  shame  !  " 

Seeing  that  Meg's  usually  gentle  temper  was  roused, 
and  her  pride  hurt  by  this  mischievous  joke,  Mrs. 
March  soothed  her  by  promises  of  entire  silence,  and 
great  discretion  for  the  future.  The  instant  Laurie's 
step  was  heard  in  the  hall,  Meg  fled  into  the  study, 
and  Mrs.  March  received  the  culprit  alone.  Jo  had 
not  told  him  why  he  was  wanted,  fearing  he  wouldn't 
come  ;  but  he  knew  the  minute  he  saw  Mrs.  March's 
face,  and  stood  twirling  his  hat  with  a  guilty  air, 
which  convicted  him  at  once.  Jo  was  dismissed,  but 
chose  to  march  up  and  down  the  hall  like  a  sentinel, 
having  some  fear  that  the  prisoner  might  bolt.  The 
sound  of  voices  in  the  parlor  rose  and  fell  for  half  an 


Laurie  makes  Mischief.  305 

hour ;  but  what  happened  during  that  interview  the 
girls  never  knew. 

When  they  were  called  in,  Laurie  was  standing  by 
their  mother  with  such  a  penitent  face,  that  Jo  forgave 
him  on  the  spot,  but  did  not  think  it  wise  to  betray  the 
fact.  Meg  received  his  humble  apology,  and  was 
much  comforted  by  the  assurance  that  Brooke  knew 
nothing  of  the  joke. 

"  I'll  never  tell  him  to  my  dying  day,  —  wild  horses 
shan't  drag  it  out  of  me ;  so  you'll  forgive  me,  Meg, 
and  I'll  do  anything  to  show  how  out-and-out  sorry  I 
am,"  he  added,  looking  very  much  ashamed  of  himself. 

"  I'll  try ;  but  it  was  a  very  ungentlemanly  thing  to 
do.  I  didn't  think  you  could  be  so  sly  and  malicious, 
Laurie,"  replied  Meg,  trying  to  hide  her  maidenly 
confusion  under  a  gravely  reproachful  air. 

"  It  was  altogether  abominable,  and  I  don't  deserve 
to  be  spoken  to  for  a  month ;  but  you  will,  though, 
won't  you  ? "  and  Laurie  folded  his  hands  together, 
with  such  an  imploring  gesture,  and  rolled  up  his  eyes 
in  such  a  meekly  repentant  way,  as  he  spoke  in  his 
irresistibly  persuasive  tone,  that  it  was  impossible  to 
frown  upon  him,  in  spite  of  his  scandalous  behavior. 
Meg  pardoned  him,  and  Mrs.  March's  grave  face  re- 
laxed, in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  keep  sober,  when  she 
heard  him  declare  that  he  would  atone  for  his  sins 
by  all  sorts  of  penances,  and  abase  himself  like  a 
worm  before  the  injured  damsel. 

Jo  stood  aloof,  meanwhile,  trying  to  harden  her 
heart  against  him,  and  succeeding  only  in  primming 
up  her  face  into  an  expression  of  entire  disapproba- 
tion. Laurie  looked  *  at  her  once  or  twice,  but,  as  she 
20 


3o6  Little   Women. 

showed  no  sign  of  relenting,  he  felt  injured,  and 
turned  his  back  on  her  till  the  others  were  done  with 
him,  when  he  made  her  a  low  bow,  and  walked  off 
without  a  word. 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  she  wished  she  had  been 
more  forgiving ;  and,  when  Meg  and  her  mother 
went  up  stairs,  she  felt  lonely,  and  longed  for  Teddy. 
After  resisting  for  some  time,  she  yielded  to  the  im- 
pulse, and,  armed  with  a  book  to  return,  went  over  to 
the  big  house. 

"  Is  Mr.  Laurence  in  ? "  asked  Jo,  of  a  housemaid, 
who  was  coming  down  stairs. 

'•  Yes,  miss  ;  but  I  don't  believe  he's  seeable  just  yet." 

"Why  not;  is  he  ill?" 

"  La,  no,  miss  !  but  he's  had  a  scene  with  Mr.  Lau- 
rie, who  is  in  one  of  his  tantrums  about  something, 
which  vexes  the  old  gentleman,  so  I  dursn't  go  nigh 
him." 

"  Where  is  Laurie  ? " 

''  Shut  up  in  his  room,  and  he  won't  answer,  though 
I've  been  a-tapping.  I  don't  know  what's  to  become 
of  the  dinner,  for  it's  ready,  and  there's  no  one  to  eat 
it." 

"  I'll  go  and  see  what  the  matter  is.  I'm  not  afraid 
of  either  of  them." 

Up  went  Jo,  and  knocked  smartly  on  the  door  of 
Laurie's  little  study. 

''  Stop  that,  or  I'll  open  the  door  and  make  you  !  " 
called  out  the  young  gentleman,  in  a  threatening  tone. 

Jo  immediately  pounded  again  ;  the  door  flew  open, 
and  in  she  bounced,  before  Laurie  could  recover  from 
his  surprise.     Seeing  that  he  really  was  out  of  temper, 


Laurie  makes  Mischief,  307 

Jo,  who  knew  how  to  manage  him,  assumed  a  con- 
trite expression,  and,  going  artistically  down  upon  her 
knees,  said,  meekl}^,  '"'  Please  forgive  me  for  being  so 
cross.  I  came  to  make  it  up,  and  can't  go  away  till  I 
have." 

"  It's  all  right ;  get  up,  and  don't  be  a  goose,  Jo," 
was  the  cavalier  reply  to  her  petition. 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  will.  Could  I  ask  what's  the  mat- 
ter?    You  don't  look  exactly  easy  in  your  mind." 

"  I've  been  shaken,  and  I  won't  bear  it !  "  growled 
Laurie,  indignantly. 

"  Who  did  it.?"  demanded  Jo. 

"Grandfather;  if  it  had  been  any  one  else  I'd 
have  — "  and  the  injured  youth  finished  his  sentence 
by  an  energetic  gesture  of  the  right  arm. 

"  That's  nothing  ;  I  often  shake  you,  and  you  don't 
mind,"  said  Jo,  soothingly. 

''  Pooh  !  you're  a  girl,  and  it's  fun  ;  but  I'll  allow  no 
man  to  shake  meT 

"  I  don't  think  any  one  would  care  to  try  it,  if  you 
looked  as  much  like  a  thunder-cloud  as  you  do  now. 
Why  were  you  treated  so  }  " 

"Just  because  I  wouldn't  say  what  your  mother 
wanted  me  for.  I'd  promised  not  to  tell,  and  of  course 
I  wasn't  going  to  break  my  woi;d." 

"  Couldn't  you  satisfy  your  grandpa  in  any  other 
way  ?  " 

"  No  ;  he  ivould  have  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and 
nothing  but  the  truth.  I'd  have  told  my  part  of  the 
scrape,  if  I  could,  without  bringing  Meg  in.  As  I 
couldn't,  I  held  my  tongue,  and  bore   the   scolding  till 


3o8  Little  Women, 

the.  old  gentleman  collared  me.  Then  I  got  angry, 
and  bolted,  for  fear  I  should  forget  myself." 

"  It  wasn't  nice,  but  he's  sorry,  I  know  ;  so  go  down 
and  make  up.     I'll  help  you." 

"  Hanged  if  I  do  !  I'm  not  going  to  be  lectured 
and  pummelled  by  every  one,  just  for  a  bit  of  a  frolic. 
I  "djas  sorry  about  Meg,  and  begged  pardon  like  a  man  ; 
but  I  won't  do  it  again,  when  I  wasn't  in  the  wrong." 

"  He  didn't  know  that." 

"  He  ought  to  trust  me,  and  not  act  as  if  I  was  a 
baby.  It's  no  use,  Jo  ;  he's  got  to  learn  that  I'm  able 
to  take  care  of  myself,  and  don't  need  any  one's  apron- 
string  to  hold  on  by." 

"What  pepper-pots  you  are  !  "  sighed  Jo.  "How 
do  you  mean  to  settle  this  affair?" 

"  Well,  he  ought  to  beg  pardon,  and  believe  me 
when  I  say  I  can't  tell  him  what  the  row's  about." 

"  Bless  you  !  he  won't  do  that." 

"•  I  won't  go  down  till  he  does." 

"  Now,  Teddy,  be  sensible  ;  let  it  pass,  and  I'll  ex- 
plain what  I  can.  You  can't  stay  here,  so  what's  the 
use  of  being  melodramatic  ?  " 

"  I  don't  intend  to  stay  here  long,  any-way.  I'll 
slip  off  and  take  a  journey  somewhere,  and  when 
grandpa  misses  me  he'll  come  round  fast  enough." 

"  I  dare  say ;  but  you  ought  not  to  go  and  worry 
him." 

"  Don't  preach.  I'll  go  to  Washington  and  see 
Brooke  ;  it's  gay  there,  and  I'll  enjoy  myself  after  the 
troubles." 

"  What  fun  you'd  have !     I  wish  I  could   run  off 


Laurie  makes  Mischief,  309 

too  !  "  said  Jo,  forgetting  her  part  of  Mentor  in  lively 
visions  of  martial  life  at  the  capital. 

"Come  on,  then!  Why  not?  You  go  and  sur- 
prise your  father,  and  I'll  stir  up  old  Brooke.  It 
wouM  be  a  glorious  joke  ;  let's  do  it,  Jo  !  We'll  leave 
a  letter  saying  we  are  all  right,  and  trot  off  at  once. 
I've  got  money  enough ;  it  v\^ill  do  you  good,  and  be 
no  harm,  as  you  go  to  your  father." 

For  a  moment  Jo  looked  as  if  she  vs^ould  agree  ;  for, 
wild  as  the' plan  was,  it  just  suited  her.  She  was  tired 
of  care  and  confinement,  longed  for  change,  and 
thoughts  of  her  father  blended  temptingly  with  the 
novel  charms  of  camps  and  hospitals,  liberty  and  fun. 
Her  eyes  kindled  as  they  turned  wistfully  toward  the 
window,  but  they  fell  on  the  old  house  opposite,  and 
she  shook  her  head  with  sorrowful  decision. 

"  If  I  was  a  boy,  we'd  run  away  together,  and  have 
a  capital  time  ;  but  as  I'm  a  miserable  girl,  I  must  be 
proper,  and  stop  at  home.  Don't  tempt  me,  Teddy, 
it's  a  crazy  plan." 

"  Thaf  s  the  fun  of  it !  "  began  Laurie,  who  had  got 
a  wilful  fit  on  him,  and  was  possessed  to  break  out  of 
bounds  in  some  way. 

"  Hold  your  tongue!"  cried  Jo,  covering  her  ears. 
'  Prunes  and  prisms'  are  my  doom,  and  I  may  as  well 
make  up  my  mind  to  it.  I  came  here  to  moralize, 
not  to  hear  about  things  that  make  me  skip  to 
think  of." 

"  I  knew  Meg  would  wet-blanket  such  a  proposal, 
but  I  thought  you  had  more  spirit,"  began  Laurie,  in- 
sinuajtingly. 

"  Bad  boy,  be   quiet.     Sit  down  and  think  of  your 


3IO  Little  Women, 

own  sins,  don't  go  making  me  add  to  mine.  If  I  get 
your  grandpa  to  apologize  for  the  shaking,  will  you 
give  up  running  away?"  asked  Jo,  seriously. 

"  Yes,  but  you  won't  do  it,"  answered  Laurie,  who 
wished  to  "  make  up,"  but  felt  that  his  outraged  dignity 
must  be  appeased  first. 

"  If  I  can  manage  the  young  one  I  can  the  old  one," 
muttered  Jo,  as  she  walked  a.way,  leaving  Laurie  bent 
over  a  railroad  map,  with  his  head  propped  up  on 
both  hands. 

'-'  Come  in  !  "  and  Mr.  Laurence's  gruftVoice  sounded 
gruffer  than  ever,  as  Jo  tapped  at  his  door. 

"  It's  only  me,  sir,  come  to  return  a  book,"  she  said, 
blandly,  as  she  entered. 

"Want  any  more?"  asked  the  old  gentleman,  look- 
ing grim  and  vexed,  but  trying  not  to  show  it. 

•'  Yes,  please,  I  like  old  Sam  so  well,  I  think  I'll 
try  the  second  volume,"  returned  Jo,  hoping  to  pro- 
pitiate him  by  accepting  a  second  dose  of  "  Boswell's 
Johnson,"  as  he  had  recommended  that  lively  work. 

The  shaggy  eyebrows  unbent  a  little,  as  he  rolled 
the  steps  toward  the  shelf  where  the  Johnsonian 
literature  was  placed.  Jo  skipped  up,  and,  sitting  on 
the  top  step,  affected  to  be  searching  for  her  book,  but 
was  really  wondering  how  best  to  introduce  the  dan- 
gerous object  of  her  visit.  Mr.  Laurence  seemed  to 
suspect  that  something  was  brewing  in  her  mind ;  for, 
after  taking  several  brisk  turns  about  the  room,  he 
faced  round  on  her,  speaking  so  abruptly,  that  "  Ras- 
selas  "  tumbled  face  downward  on  the  floor. 

"What  has  that  boy  been  about?  Don't  try  to 
shield  him,  now !     I  know  he  has  been  in  mischief, 


Laurie  makes  Mischief,  311 

by  the  way  he  acted  when  he  came  home.  I  can't  get 
a  word  from  him  ;  and,  when  I  threatened  to  shake  the 
truth  out  of  him,  he  bolted  up  stairs,  and  locked  him- 
self into  his  room." 

"  He  did  do  wrong,  but  we  forgave  him,  and  all 
promised  not  to  say  'a  word  to  any  one,"  began  Jo, 
reluctantly. 

"  That  won't  do  ;  he  shall  not  shelter  himself  behind 
a  promise  from  you  soft-hearted  girls.  If  he's  done 
anything  amiss,  he  shall  confess,  beg  pardon,  and  be 
punished.  Out  with  it,  Jo  !  I  won't  be  kept  in  the 
dark." 

Mr.  Laurence  looked  so  alarming,  and  spoke  so 
sharply,  that  Jo  would  have  gladly  run  away,  if  she 
could,  but  she  was  perched  aloft  on  the  steps,  and  he 
stood  at  the  foot,  a  lion  in  the  path,  so  she  had  to  stay 
and  brave  it  out. 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  cannot  tell,  mother  forbid  it.  Laurie 
has  confessed,  asked  pardon,  and  been  punished  quite 
enough.  We  don't  keep  silence  to  shield  him,  but 
some  one  else,  and  it  will  make  more  trouble  if  you 
interfere.  Please  don't ;  it  was  partly  my  fault,  but  it's 
all  right  now,  so  let's  forget  it,  and  talk  about  the 
'•  Rambler,'  or  something  pleasant." 

"  Hang  the  '  Rambler ! '  come  down  and  give  me 
your  word  that  this  harum-scarum  boy  of  mine  hasn't 
done  anything  ungrateful  or  impertinent.  If  he  has, 
after  all  your  kindness  to  him,  I'll  thrash  him  with 
my  own  hands." 

The  threat  sounded  awful,  but  did  not  alarm  Jo,  for 
she  knew  the  irascible  old  man  would  never  lift  a 
finger  against  his  grandson,  whatever  he  might  say  to 


312  Little  Women, 

the  contrary.  She  obediently  descended,  and  made  as 
h'ght  of  the  prank  as  she  could  without  betraying  Meg, 
or  forgetting  the  truth. 

"  Hum  !  ha  !  well,  if  the  boy  held  his  tongue  because 
he'd  promised,  and  not  from  obstinacy,  I'll  forgive  him. 
He's  a  stubborn  fellow,  and  hard  to  manage,"  said  Mr. 
Laurence,  rubbing  up  his  hair  till  it  looked  as  if  he'd 
been  out  in  a  gale,  and  smoothing  the  frown  from  his 
brow  with  an  air  of  relief. 

*'  So  am  I ;  but  a  kind  word  will  govern  me  when 
all  the  king's  horses  and  all  the  king's  men  couldn't," 
said  Jo,  trying  to  say  a  kind  word  for  her  friend,  who 
seemed  to  get  out  of  one  scrape  only  to  fall  into  another. 

"You  think  I'm  not  kind  to  him,  hey?"  was  the 
sharp  answer. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,  sir ;  you  are  rather  too  kind  some- 
times, and  then  just  a  trifle  hasty  when  he  tries  youi 
patience.     Don't  you  think  you  are  ?  " 

Jo  was  determined  to  have  it  out  now,  and  tried  to 
look  quite  placid,  though  she  quaked  a  little  after  her 
bold  speech.  To  her  great  relief  and  surprise,  the  old 
gentleman  only  threw  his  spectacles  on  to  the  table 
with  a  rattle,  and  exclaimed,  frankly,  — 

^'You're  right,  girl,  I  am  I  I  love  the  boy,  but'  he 
tries  my  patience  past  bearing,  and  I  don't  know  how 
it  will  end,  if  we  go  on  so." 

"  I'll  tell  you,  —  he'll  run  away."  Jo  was  sorry  for 
that  speech  the  minute  it  was  made ;  she  meant  to 
warn  him  that  Laurie  would  not  bear  much  restraint, 
and  hoped  he  would  be  more  forbearing  with  the  lad. 

Mr.  Laurence's  ruddy  face  changed  suddenly,  and 
he  sat  down  with  a  troubled  glance  at  the  picture  of 


Laurie  makes  Mischief,  313 

a  handsome  man,  which  hung  over  his  table.  It  was 
Laurie's  father,  who  had  run  away  in  his  youth,  and 
married  against  the  imperious  old  man's  will.  Jo 
fancied  he  remembered  and  regretted  the  past,  and 
she  wished  she  had  held  her  tongue. 

"  He  won't  do  it,  unless  he  is  very  much  worried, 
and  only  threatens  it  sometimes,  when  he  gets  tired  of 
studying.  I  often  think  I  should  like  to,  especially 
since  my  hair  was  cut ;  so,  if  you  ever  miss  us,  you 
may  advertise  for  two  boys,  and  look  among  the  ships 
bound  for  India." 

She  laughed  as  she  spoke,  and  Mr.  Laurence  looked 
relieved,  evidently  taking  the  whole  as  a  joke. 

"  You  hussy,  how  dare  you  talk  in  that  way?  where's 
your  respect  for  me,  and  your  proper  bringing  up.? 
Bless  the  boys  and  girls  !  what  torments  they  are  ;  yet 
we  can't  do  without  them,"  he  said,  pinching  her 
cheeks  good-humoredly. 

"  Go  and  bring  that  boy  down  to  his  dinner,  tell 
him  it's  all  right,  and  advise  him  not  to  put  on 
tragedy  airs  with  his  grandfather  ;  I  won't  bear  it." 

"  He  won't  come,  sir;  he  feels  badly  because  you 
didn't  bel'leve  him  when  he  said  he  couldn't  tell.  I 
think  the  shaking  hurt  his  feelings  very  much." 

Jo  tried  to  look  pathetic,  but  must  have  failed,  for 
Mr.  Laurence  began  to  laugh,  and  she  knew  the  day 
was  won. 

"I'm  sorry  for  that,  and  ought  to  thank  him  for  not 
shaking  me^  I  suppose.  What  the  dickens  does  the 
fellow  expect  ?  "  and  the  old  gentleman  looked  a  trifle 
ashamed  of  his  own  testiness. 

"If  I  was  you,  I'd  write  liim  an  apology,  sir.     He 


314  Little  Women, 

says  he  won  fc  come  down  till  he  has  one ;  and  talks 
about  Washino^ton,  and  goes  on  in  an  absurd  way.  A 
formal  apology  will  make  him  see  how  foolish  he  is, 
and  bring  him  d^wn  quite  amiable.  Try  it ;  he  likes 
fun,  and  this  way  is  better  than  talking.  I'll  carry  it 
up^  and  teach  him  his  duty." 

Mr.  Laurence  gave  her  a  sharp  look,  and  put  on  his 
spectacles,  saying,  slowly,  "You're  a  sly  puss!  but  I 
don't  mind  being  managed  by  you  and  Beth.  Here, 
give  me  a  bit  of  paper,  and  let  us  have  done  with  this 
nonsense." 

The  note  w  is  written  in  the  terms  which  one  gen- 
tleman would  use  to  another  after  offering  some  deep 
insult.  Jo  dropped  a  kiss  on  the  top  of  Mr.  Lau- 
rence's bald  head,  and  ran  up  to  slip  the  apology 
under  Laurie's  door,  advising  him,  through  the  key- 
hole, to  be  submissive,  decorous,  and  a  few  other 
agreeable  impossibilities.  Finding  the  door  locked 
again,  she  left  the  note  to  do  its  work,  and  was  going 
quietly  away,  when  the  young  gentleman  slid  down 
the  banisters,  and  waited  for  her  at  the  bottom,  say- 
ing, with  his  most  virtuous  expression  of  countenance, 
"What  a  good  fellow  you  are,  Jo!  Did  you  get 
blown  up.^"  he  added,  laughing. 

"  No  ;  he  was  pretty  clever,  on  the  whole." 

"  Ah  !  I  got  it  all  round  !  even  you  cast  me  off  over 
there,  and  I  felt  just  ready  to  go  to  the  deuce,"  he  be- 
gan, apologetically. 

"  Don't  talk  in  that  way  ;  turn  over  a  new  leaf  and 
begin  again,  Teddy,  my  son." 

"I  keep  turning  over  new  leaves,  and  spoiling 
them,  as  I  used  to  spoil  my  copy-books ;  and  I  make 


La  urie  makes  Mischief,  315 

so  many  beginnings  there  never  will  be  an  end/'  he 
said,  dolefully. 

"  Go  and  eat  your  dinner  ;  you'll  feel  better  after  it. 
Men  always  croak  when  they  are  hungry,"  and  Jo 
whisked  out  at  the  front  door  after  that. 

"That's  a 'label 'on  my  '  sect,'  answered  Laurie, 
quoting  Amy,  as  he  went  to  partake  of  humble-pie 
dutifully  with  his  grandfather,  who  was  quite  saintly 
in  temper,  and  overwhelmingly  respectful  in  manner, 
all  the  rest  of  the  day. 

Every  one  thought  the  matter  ended,  and  the  little 
cloud  blown  over ;  but  the  mischief  was  done,  for, 
though  others  forgot  it,  Meg  remembered.  She  never 
alluded  to  a  certain  person,  but  she  thought  of  him  a 
good  deal,  dreamed  dreams  more  than  ever  ;  and,  once, 
Jo,  rummaging  her  sister's  desk  for  stamps,  found  a 
oit  of  paper  scribbled  over  with  the  words,  "Mrs. 
John  Brooke  ;  "  whereat  she  groaned  tragically,  and 
cast  it  into  the  fire,  feeling  that  Laurie's  prank  had 
hastened  the  evil  day  for  her. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


PLEASANT     MEADOWS. 


LIKE  sunshine  after  storm  were  the  peaceful 
weeks  which  followed.  The  invalids  im- 
proved rapidly,  and  Mr.  March  began  to  talk 
of  returning  early  in  the  new  year.  Beth  was  soon 
able  to  lie  on  the  study  sofa  all  day,  amusing  herself 
with  the  well-beloved  cats,  at  first,  and,  in  time,  with 
doll's  sewing,  which  had  fallen  sadly  behindhand. 
Her  once  active  limbs  were  so  stiff  and  feeble  that  Jo 
took  her  a  dafly  airing  about  the  house,  in  her  strong 
arms.  Meg  cheerfully  blackened  and  burnt  her  white 
hands  cooking  delicate  messes  for  "the  dear;"  while 
Am}^,  a  loyal  slave  of  the  ring,  celebrated  her  return 
by  giving  away  as  many  of  her  treasures  as  she  could 
prevail  on  her  sisters  to  accept. 

As  Christmas  approached,  the  usual  mysteries  began 
to  haunt  the  house,  and  Jo  frequently  convulsed  the 
family  by  proposing  utterly  impossible,  or  magnifi- 
cently absurd  ceremonies,  in  honor  of  this  unusually 
merry  Christmas.  Laurie  was  equally  impracticable, 
and  would  have  had  bonfires,  sky-rockets,  and  tri- 
umphal arches,  if  he  had  had  his  own  way.  After 
UKuix-    skirmishes  and   snubbings,   the   ambitious    pari 


Pleasant  Meadows.  317 

were  considered  effectually  quenched,  and  went  about 
with  forlorn  faces,  which  were  rather  belied  by  explo- 
sions of  laughter  when  the  two  got  together. 

Several  days  of  unusually  mild  weather  fitly  ushered 
in  a  splendid  Christmas-day.  Hannah  "felt  in  her 
bones  that  it  was  going  to  be  an  uncommonly  plummy 
da}',"  and  she  proved  herself  a  true  prophetess,  for 
everybody  and  everything  seemed  bound  to  produce 
a  grand  success.  To  begin  with  :  Mr.  March  wrote 
that  he  should  soon  be  with  them  ;  then  Beth  felt 
uncommonly  well  that  morning,  and,  being  dressed  in 
her  mother's  gift,  —  a  soft  crimson  merino  wrapper,  — 
was  borne  in  triumph  to  the  window,  to  behold  the 
offering  of  Jo  and  Laurie.  The  Unquenchables  had 
done  their  best  to  be  worthy  of  the  name,  for,  like 
elves,  they  had  worked  by  night,  and  conjured  up  a 
comical  surprise.  Out  in  the  garden  stood  a  stately 
snow-maiden,  crowned  with  holly,  bearing  a  basket 
of  fruit  and  flowers  in  one  hand,  a  great  roll  of  new 
music  in  the  other,  a  perfect  rainbow  of  an  Afghan 
round  her  chilly  shoulders,  and  a  Christmas  carol 
issuing  from  her  lips,  on  a  pink  paper  streamer  : — 

"  THE  JUNGFRAU  TO  BETH. 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  Queen  Bess ! 
May  nothing  you  dismay; 
But  health,  and  peace,  and  happiness, 
Be  yours,  this  Christmas-day. 

"Here's  fruit  to  feed  our  busy  bee, 
And  -flowers  for  her  nose ; 
Here's  music  for  her  pianee, — 
An  Afghan  for  her  toes 


3i8  Little  Womefi, 

"A  portrait  of  Joanna,  see, 
By  Raphael  No.  2, 
Who  labored  with  great  industry, 
To  make  it  fair  and  true. 

"  Accept  a  ribbon  red  I  beg. 
For  Madam  Purrer's  tail ; 
And  ice  cream  made  bj  lovely  Peg,— 
A  Mont  Blanc  in  a  pail. 

"Their  dearest  love  my  makers  laid 
Within  my  breast  of  snow. 
Accept  it,  and  the  Alpine  maid. 
From  Laurie  and  from  Jo." 

How  Beth  laughed  when  she  saw  it !  how  Laurie 
ran  up  and  down  to  bring  in  the  gifts,  and  what  ridic- 
ulous speeches  Jo  made  as  she  presented  them  ! 

"  Fm  so  full  of  happiness,  that,  if  father  was  only 
here,  I  couldn't  hold  one  drop  more,"  said  Beth,  quite 
sighing  with  contentment  as  Jo  carried  her  oft'  to  the 
study  to  rest  after  the  excitement,  and  to  refresh  her- 
self with  some  of  the  delicious  grapes  the  "Jungfrau" 
had  sent  her. 

"  So  am  I,"  added  Jo,  slapping  the  pocket  wherein 
reposed  the  long-desired  Undine  and  Sintram. 

"  I'm  sure  I  am,"  echoed  Amy,  poring  over  the  en- 
graved copy  of  the  Madonna  and  Child,  which  her 
mother  had  given  her,  in  a  pretty  frame. 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  cried  Meg,  smoothing  the  silvery 
folds  of  her  first  silk  dress  ;  for  Mr.  Laurence  had 
insisted  on  giving  it. 

"  How  can  /  be  otherwise  ! "  said  Mrs.  March,  grate- 
fully, as  her  eyes  went  from  her  husband's  letter  to 


Pleasant  Meado'Cos,  319 

Beth's  smiling  face,  and  her  hand  caressed  the  brooch 
made  of  gray  and  golden,  chestnut  and  dark  brown 
hair,  which  the  girls  had  just  fastened  on  her  breast. 

Now  and  then,  in  this  work-a-day  world,  things  do 
happen  in  the  delightful  story-book  fashion,  and  what 
a  comfort  that  is.  Half  an  hour  after  every  one  had 
said  they  were  so  happy  they  could  only  hold  one 
drop  more,  the  drop  came.  Laurie  opened  the 
parlor  door,  and  popped  his  head  in  very  quietly. 
He  might  just  as  well  have  turned  a  somersault,  and 
uttered  an  Indian  war-whoop ;  for  his  face  was  so 
full  of  suppressed  excitement,  and  his  voice  so  treach- 
erously joyful,  that  every  one  jumped  up,  though  he 
only  said,  in  a  queer,  breathless  voice,  "Here's  another 
Christmas  present  for  the  March  family." 

Before  the  words  were  well  out  of  his  mouth,  he 
was  whisked  away  somehow,  and  in  his  place  ap- 
peared a  tall  man,  muffled  up  to  the  eyes,  leaning  on 
the  arm  of  another  tall  man,  who  tried  to  say  some- 
thing and  couldn't.  Of  course  there  was  a  general 
stampede  ;  and  for  several  minutes  everybody  seemed  to 
lose  their  wits,  for  the  strangest  things  were  done,  and 
no  one  said  a  word.  Mr.  March  became  invisible  in 
the  embrace  of  four  pairs  of  loving  arms  ;  Jo  disgraced 
herself  by  nearly  fainting  away,  and  had  to  be  doctored 
by  Laurie  in  the  china  closet ;  Mr.  Brooke  kissed  Meg- 
entirely  by  mistake,  as  he  somewhat  incoherently 
explained  ;  and  Amy,  the  dignified,  tumbled  over  a 
stool,  and,  never  stopping  to  get  up,  hugged  and  cried 
over  her  father's  boots  in  the  .most  touching  manner. 
Mrs.  March  was  the  first  to  recover  herself,  and  held 


320  Little  Women, 

up  her  hand  with  a  warning,  "  Hush !  remember 
Beth ! " 

But  it  was  too  late  ;  the  study  door  flew  open, — the 
little  red  wrapper  appeared  on  the  threshold, — joy 
put  strength  into  the  feeble  limbs,  —  and  Beth  ran 
straight  into  her  father's  arms.  Never  mind  what 
happened  just  after  that ;  for  the  full  hearts  over- 
flowed, washing  away  the  bitterness  of  the  past,  and 
leaving  only  the  sweetness  of  the  present. 

It  was  not  at  all  romantic,  but  a  hearty  laugh  set 
everybody  straight  again,  —  for  Hannah  was  dis- 
covered behind  the  door,  sobbing  over  the  fat  turkey, 
which  she  had  forgotten  to  put  down  when  she  rushed 
up  from  the  kitchen.  As  the  laugh  subsided,  Mrs. 
March  began  to  thank  Mr.  Brooke  for  his  faithful 
care  of  her  husband,  at  which  Mr,  Brooke  suddenly 
remembered  that  Mr.  March  needed  rest,  and,  seizing 
Laurie,  he  precipitately  retired.  Then  the  two  in- 
valids were  ordered  to  repose,  which  they  did,  by  both 
sitting  in  one  big  chair,  and  talking  hard. 

Mr.  March  told  how  he  had  longed  to  surprise 
them,  and  how,  when  the  fine  weather  came,  he  had 
been  allowed  by  his  doctor  to  take  advantage  of  it ; 
how  devoted  Brooke  had  been,  and  how  he  was 
altogether  a  most  estimable  and  upright  young  man. 
Why  Mr.  March  paused  a  minute  just  there,  and^ 
after  a  glance  at  Meg,  who  w^as  violently  poking  the 
fire,  looked  at  his  wife  with  an  inquiring  lift  of  the 
eyebrows,  I  leave  you  to  imagine ;  also  why  Mrs. 
March  gently  nodded  •  her  head,  and  asked,  rather 
abruptly,  if  he  wouldn't  have  something  to  eat.  Jo 
saw  and  understood  the  look ;  and   she  stalked  grimly 


lll!:f!.~^: 


But   it  -was  too  late;    the    study-door  flew  open,  and   Beth  ran 
straight  into  her  father's  arms.  —  Pack  320. 


Pleasant  Meadows.  321 

away,  to  get  wine  and  beef  tea,  muttering  to  herself, 
as  she  slammed  the  door,  "  I  hate  estimable  young 
men  with  brown  eyes  !  " 

There  never  was  such  a  Christmas  dinner  as  they 
had  that  day.  The  fat  turkey  was  a  sight  to  behold, 
when  Hannah  sent  him  up,  stuffed,  browned  and 
decorated.  So  was  the  plum-pudding,  which  quite 
melted  in  one's  mouth ;  likewise  the  jellies,  in  which 
Amy  revelled  like  a  fly  in  a  honey-pot.  Everything 
turned  out  well ;  which  was  a  mercy,  Hannah  said, 
"  For  my  mind  was  that  flustered,  mum,  that  it's  a 
merrycle  I  didn't  roast  the  pudding  and  stuff'  the 
turkey  with  raisens,  let  alone  bilin'  of  it  in  a  cloth." 

Mr.  Laurence  and  his  grandson  dined  with  them  ; 
also  Mr.  Brooke,  —  at  whom  Jo  glowered  darkly,  to 
Laurie's  infinite  amusement.  Two  easy-chairs  stood 
'side  by  side  at  the  head  of  the  table,  in  which  sat 
Beth  and  her  father,  feasting,  modestly,  on  chicken  and 
a  little  fruit.  They  drank  healths,  told  stories,  sung 
songs,  "reminisced,"  as  the  old  folks  say,  and  had 
a  thoroughly  good  time.  A  sleigh-ride  had  been 
planned,  but  the  girls  would  not  leave  their  father ;  so 
the  guests  departed  early,  and,  as  twilight  gathered, 
the  happy  family  sat  together  round  the  fire. 

"  Just  a  year  ago  we  were  groaning  over  the  dismal 
Christmas  we  expected  to  have.  Do  you  remember  ?  " 
asked  Jo,  breaking  a  short  pause,  which  had  followed 
a  long  conversation  about  many  things. 

"  Rather  a  pleasant  year  on  the  whole  !  "  said  Meg, 
smiling  at  the  fire,  and  congratulating  herself  on 
having  treated  Mr.  Brooke  with  dignity. 

"I  think    it's   been    a  pretty   hard  one,"    observed 


322  Little  Women, 

Amy,    watching   the    light   shine    on   her  ring,   with 
thoughtful  eyes. 

"  I'm  glad  it's  over,  because  we've  'got  you  back," 
whispered  Beth,  who  sat  on  her  father's  knee. 

"  Rather  a  rough  road  for  you  to  travel,  my  little 
pilgrims,  especially  the  latter  part  of  it.  But  you 
have  got  on  bravely  ;  and  I  think  the  burdens  are  in  a 
fair  way  to  tumble  off  very  soon,"  said  Mr.  March, 
looking,  with  fatherly  satisfaction,  at  the  four  young 
faces  gathered  round  him. 

"How  do  you  know?  Did  mother  tell  you.?" 
asked  Jo. 

"  Not  much ;  stravs^s  show  which  way  the  wind 
blows ;  and  I've  made  several  discoveries  today." 

"Oh,  tell  us  what  they  are!"  cried  Meg,  who  sat 
beside  him. 

"  Here  is  one ! "  and,  taking  up  the  hand  which  lay' 
on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  he  pointed  to  the  roughened 
forefinger,  a  burn  on  the  back,  and  two  or  three  little 
hard  spots  on  the  palm.  "  I  remember  a  time  when 
this  hand  was  white  and  smooth,  and  your  first  care 
was  to  keep  it  so.  It  was  very  pretty  then,  but  to 
me  it  is  much  prettier  now,  —  for  in  these  seeming 
blemishes  I  read  a  little  history.  A  burnt  offering  has 
been  made  of  vanity  ;  this  hardened  palm  has  earned 
something  better  than  blisters,  and  I'm  sure  the  sew- 
ing done  by  these  pricked  fingers  will  last  a  long  time, 
so  much  good-will  went  into  the  stitches.  Meg,  my 
dear,  I  value  the  womanly  skill  which  keeps  home 
happy,  more  than  white  hands  or  fashionable  accom- 
plishments ;  I'm  proud  to  shake  this  good,  industrious 


Pleasant  Meadows,  323 

little  hand,  and  hope  I  shall  not  soon  be  asked  to  give 
it  away." 

If  Meg  had  wanted  a  reward  for  hours  of  patient 
labor,  she  received  it  in  the  hearty  pressure  of  her 
father's  hand,  and  the  approving  smile  he  gave  her. 

"What  about  Jo?  Please  say  something  nice  ;  for 
she  has  tried  so  hard,  and  been  so  very,  very  good  to 
me,"  said  Beth,  in  her  father's  ear. 

He  laughed,  and  looked  across  at  the  tall  girl  who 
sat  opposite,  with  an  unusually  mild  expression  in  her 
brown  face. 

"  In  spite  of  the  curly  crop,  I  don't  see  the  'son  Jo' 
whom  I  left  a  year  ago,"  said  Mr.  March.  "  I  see  a 
young  lady  who  pins  her  collar  straight,  laces  her 
boots  neatly,  and  neither  whistles,  talks  slang,  nor  lies 
on  the  rug,  as  she  used  to  do.  Her  face  is  rather  thin 
and  pale,  just  now,  with  watching  and  anxiety  ;  but  I 
like  to  look  at  it,  for  it  has  grown  gentler,  and  her 
voice  is  lower  ;  she  doesn't  bounce,  but  moves  quietly, 
and  takes  care  of  a  certain  little  person  in  a  motherly 
way,  which  delights  me.  I  rather  miss  my  wild  girl ; 
but  if  I  get  a  strong,  helpful,  tender-hearted  woman 
in  her  place,  I  shall  feel  quite  satisfied.  I  don't  know 
whether  the  shearing  sobered  our  black  sheep,  but  I 
do  know  that  in  all  Washington  I  couldn't  find  any- 
thing beautiful  enough  to  be  bought  with  the  five-and- 
twenty  dollars  which  my  good  girl  sent  me." 

Jo's  keen  eyes  were  rather  dim  for  a  minute,  and 
her  thin  face  grew  rosy  in  the  firelight,  as  she  received 
her  father's  praise,  feeling  that  she  did  deserve  a 
portion  of  it. 


324  Little  Women, 

"  Now  Beth  ;  "  said  Amy,  longing  for  her  turn,  but 
ready  to  wait. 

"  There's  so  little  of  her  I'm  afraid  to  say  much,  for 
fear  she  will  slip  away  altogether,  though  she  is  not 
so  shy  as  she  used  to  be,"  began  their  father,  cheer- 
fully ;  but,  recollecting  how  nearly  he  had  lost  her, 
he  held  her  close,  saying,  tenderly,  with  her  cheek 
against  his  own,  "  I've  got  you  safe,  my  Beth,  and  I'll 
keep  you  so,  please  God." 

After  a  minute's  silence,  he  looked  down  at  Amy, 
who  sat  on  the  cricket  at  his  feet,  and  said,  with  a 
caress  of  the  shining  hair,  — 

"  I  observed  that  Amy  took  drumsticks  at  dinner, 
ran  errands  for  her  mother  all  the  afternoon,  gave  Meg 
her  place  to-night,  and  has  waited  on  every  one  with 
patience  and  good-humor.  I  also  observe  that  she 
does  not  fret  much,  nor  prink  at  the  glass,  and  has 
not  even  mentioned  a  very  pretty  ring  which  she 
wears ;  so  I  conclude  that  she  has  learned  to  think 
of  other  people  more,  and  of  herself  less,  and  has 
decided  to  try  and  mould  her  character  as  carefully  as 
she  moulds  her  little  clay  figures.  I  am  glad  of  this  ; 
for  though  I  should  be  very  proud  of  a  graceful  statue 
made  by  her,  I  shall  be  infinitely  prouder  of  a  lovable 
daughter,  with  a  talent  for  making  life  beautiful  to 
herself  and  others." 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Beth.?"  asked  Jo,  when 
Amy  had  thanked  her  father,  and  told  about  her  ring. 

"I  read  in  'Pilgrim's  Progress'  today,  how,  after 
many  troubles.  Christian  and  Hopeful  came  to  a 
pleasant  green  meadow,  where  lilies  bloomed  all  the 
year  round,  and  there  they  rested   happily,  as  we  do 


Pleasant  Meadows,  325 

now,  before  they  went  on  to  their  journe/s  end," 
answered  Beth ;  adding,  as  she  slipped  out  of  her 
father's  arms,  and  went  slowly  to  the  instrument, 
"  It's  singing  time  now,  and  I  want  to  be  in  my  old 
place.  I'll  try  to  sing  the  song  of  the  shepherd  boy 
which  the  Pilgrims  heard.  I  made  the  music  for 
father,  because  he  likes  the  verses." 

So,  sitting  at  the  dear  little  piano,  Beth  softly 
touched  the  keys,  and,  in  the  sweet  voice  they  had 
never  thought  to  hear  again,  sung,  to  her  own  accom- 
paniment, the  quaint  hymn,  which  was  a  singularly 
fitting  song  for  her  :  — 

"He  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall; 
He  that  is  low  no  pride; 
He  that  is  humble  ever  shall 
Have  God  tb  be  his  guide. 

"I  am  content  with  what  I  have, 
Little  be  it  or  much ; 
And,  Lord !  contentment  still  I  crave, 
Because  Thou  savest  such. 

"Fulness  to  them  a  burden  is, 
That  go  on  Pilgrimage ; 
Here  little,  and  hereafter  bliss, 
Is  best  from  age  to  age ! " 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

AUNT    MARCH     SETTLES     THE    Q^UESTION. 

LIKE  bees  swarming  after  their  queen,  mother 
and  daughters  hovered  about  Mr.  March  the 
next  day,  neglecting  everything  to  look  at, 
wait  upon,  and  listen  to,  the  new  invalid,  who  was  in 
a  fair  way  to  be  killed  by  kindness.  As  he  sat  propped 
up  in  the  big  chair  by  Beth's  sofa,  with  the  other  three 
close  by,  and  Hannah  popping  in  her  head  now  and 
then,  "to  peek  at  the  dear  man,"  nothing  seemed 
needed  to  complete  their  happiness.  But  something 
ivas  needed,  and  the  elder  ones  felt  it,  though  none 
confessed  the  fact.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  March  looked  at 
one  another  with  an  anxious  expression,  as  their  eyes 
followed  Meg.  Jo  had  sudden  fits  of  sobriety,  and 
was  seen  to  shake  her  fist  at  Mr.  Brooke's  umbrella, 
which  had  been  left  in  the  hall ;  Meg  was  absent- 
minded,  shy  and  silent,  started  when  the  bell  rang, 
and  colored  when  John's  name  was  mentioned  ;  Amy 
said  "  Every  one  seemed  waiting  for  something,  and 
couldn't  settle  down,  which  was  queer,  since  father 
Vv'as  safe  at  home,'.'  and  Beth  innocently  wondered 
why  their  neighbors  didn't  run  over  as  usual. 
326 


Aunt  March  settles  the  Question,     327 

Laurie  went  by  in  the  afternoon,  and,  seeing  Meg 
at  the  window,  seemed  suddenly  possessed  with  a 
melodramatic  fit,  for  he  fell  down  upon  one  knee  in 
the  snow,  beat  his  breast,  tore  his  hair,  and  clasped 
his  hands  imploringly,  as  if  begging  some  boon  ;  and 
vhen  Meg  told  him  to  behave  himself,  and  go  away, 
he  wrung  imaginary  tears  out  of  his  handkerchief, 
and  staggered  round  the  corner  as  if  in  utter  despair. 

"  What  does  the  goose  mean  ?  "  said  Meg,  laughing, 
and  trying  to  look  unconscious. 

"  He's  showing  you  how  your  John  will  go  on  by 
and  by.     Touching,  isn't  it.'^"  answered  Jo,  scornfully. 

"Don't  say  my  yohn^  it  isn't  proper  or  true;"  but 
Meg's  voice  lingered  over  the  words  as  if  they  sounded 
pleasant  to  her.  "  Please  don't  plague  me,  Jo  ;  I've 
told  you  I  don't  care  jnuch  about  him,  and  there  isn't 
to  be  anything  said,  but  we  are  all  to  be  friendly,  and 
go  on  as  before." 

"  We  can't,  for  something  has  been  said,  and  Laurie's 
mischief  has  spoilt  you  for  me.  I  see  it,  and  so  does 
mother ;  you  are  not  like  your  old  self  a  bit,  and  seem 
ever  so  far  away  from  me.  I  don't  mean  to  plague 
you,  and  will  bear  it  like  a  man,  but  I  do  wish  it  was 
all  settled.  I  hate  to  wait;  so  if  you  mean  ever  to  do 
it,  make  haste,  and  have  it  over  quick,"  said  Jo, 
pettishly. 

"  /  can't  say  or  do  anything  till  he  speaks,  and  he 
won't,  because  father  said  I  was  too  young,"  began 
Meg,  bending  over  her  work  with  a  queer  little  smile, 
which  suggested  that  she  did  not  quite  agree  with  her 
father  on  that  point. 

"If  he  did  speak,  you  wouldn't  know  what  to  say, 


328  Little  Women, 

but  would  cry  or  blush,  or  let  him  have  his  own  way, 
instead  of  giving  a  good,  decided.  No." 

"  I'm  not  so  silly  and  weak  as  you  think.  I  know 
just  what  I  should  say,  for  Fve  planned  it  all,  so  I 
needn't  be  taken  unawares  ;  there's  no  knowing  what 
may  happen,  and  I  wished  to  be  prepared." 

Jo  couldn't  help  smiling  at  the  important  air  which 
Meg  had  unconsciously  assumed,  and  which  was  as 
becoming  as  the  pretty  color  varying  in  her  cheeks. 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me  what  you'd  say?" 
asked  Jo,  more  respectfully. 

"  Not  at  all ;  you  are  sixteen  now,  quite  old  enough 
to  be  my  confidant,  and  my  experience  will  be  useful 
to  you  by  and  by,  perhaps,  in  your  own  affairs  of  this 
sort." 

"Don't  mean  to  have  any;  it's  fun  to  watch  other 
people  philander,  but  I  should  feel  like  a  fool  doing  it 
myself,"  said  Jo,  looking  alarmed  at  the  thought. 

"  I  guess  not,  if  you  liked  any  one  very  much,  and  he 
liked  you."  Meg  spoke  as  if  to  herself,  and  glanced 
out  at  the  lane  where  she  had  often  seen  lovers  walking 
together  in  the  summer  twilight. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  tell  your  speech  to 
that  man,"  said  Jo,  rudely  shortening  her  sister's  little 
revery. 

"Oh,  I  should  merely  say,  quite  calmly  and  de- 
cidedly, '  Thank  you,  Mr.  Brooke,  you  are  very  kind, 
but  I  agree  with  father,  that  I  am  too  young  to  enter 
into  any  engagement  at  present ;  so  please  say  no  more, 
but  let  us  be  friends  as  we  were.' " 

"  Hum  !  that's  stiff  and  cool  enough.  I  don't  believe 
you'll  ever  say  it,  and  I  know  he  won't  be  satisfied  if 


Aunt  March  settles  the  Question,     329 

you  do.  If  he  goes  on  like  the  rejected  lovers  in 
books,  you'll  give  in,  rather  than  hurt  his  feelings." 

"No  I  v^on't!  I  shall  tell  him  I've  made  up  my 
mind,  and  shall  walk  out  of  the  room  with  dignity." 

Meg  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  was  just  going  to  re- 
hearse the  dignified  exit,  when  a  step  in  the  hall  made 
her  fly  into  her  seat,  and  begin  to  sew  as  if  her  life 
depended  on  finishing  that  particular  seam  in  a  given 
time.  Jo  smothered  a  laugh  at  the  sudden  change, 
and,  when  some  one  gave  a  modest  tap,  opened  the 
door  with  a  grim  aspect,  which  was  anything  but 
hospitable. 

"Good  afternoon,  I  came  to  get  my  umbrella, — 
that  is,  to  see  how  your  father  finds  himself  today," 
said  Mr.  Brooke,  getting  a  trifle  confused,  as  his  eye 
went  from  one  tell-tale  face  to  the  other. 

"It's  very  well,  he's  in  the  rack,  I'll  get  him,  and 
tell  it  you  are  here,"  and  having  jumbled  her  father 
and  the  umbrella  well  together  in  her  reply,  Jo  slipped 
out  of  the  room  to  give  Meg  a  chance  to  make  her 
speech,  and  air  her  dignity.  But  the  instant  she 
vanished,  Meg  began  to  sidle  toward  the  door,  mur- 
muring,— 

"Mother  will  like  to  see  you,  pray  sit  down,  I'll 
call  her." 

"Don't  go;  are  you  afraid  of  me,  Margaret?"  and 
Mr.  Brooke  looked  so  hurt,  that  Meg  thought  she  must 
have  done  something  very  rude.  She  blushed  up  to 
the  little  curls  on  her  forehead,  for  he  had  never  called 
her  Margaret  before,  and  she  was  surprised  to  find 
how  natural  and  sweet  it  seemed  to  hear  him  say  it. 
Anxious  to  appear  friendly  and  at  her  ease,  she  put 


330  Little  Women, 

out  her  hand  with  a  confiding  gesture,  and  said, 
gratefully,  — 

"How  can  I  be  afraid  when  you  have  been  so  kind 
to  father?     I  only  wish  I  could  thank  j^ou  for  it." 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  how?  "  asked  Mr.  Brooke,  holding 
the  small  hand  fast  in  both  his  big  ones,  and  looking 
down  at  Meg  with  so  much  love  in  the  brown  eyes, 
that  her  heart  began  to  flutter,  and  she  both  longed  to 
run  away  and  to  stop  and  listen. 

"Oh  no,  please  don't  —  I'd  rather  not,"  she  said, 
trying  to  withdraw  her  hand,  and  looking  frightened 
in  spite  of  her  denial. 

"  I  won't  trouble  you,  I  only  want  to  know  if  you 
care  for  me  a  little,  Meg,  I  love  you  so  much,  dear," 
added  Mr.  Brooke,  tenderly. 

This  was  the  moment  for  the  calm,  proper  speech, 
but  Meg  didn't  make  it,  she  forgot  every  word  of  it, 
hung  her  head,  and  answered,  "  I  don't  know,"  so 
softly,  that  John  had  to  stoop  down  to  catch  the  foolish 
little  reply. 

He  seemed  to  think  it  was  worth  the  trouble,  toi 
he  smiled  to  himself  as  if  quite  satisfied,  pressed  the 
plump  hand  gratefully,  and  said,  in  his  most  persua- 
sive tone,  "Will  you  try  and  find  out?  I  want  to 
know  so  much  ;  for  I  can't  go  to  work  with  any  heart 
until  I  learn  whether  I  am  to  have  my  reward  in  the 
end  or  not." 

"  I'm  too  young,"  faltered  Meg,  wondering  whv  she 
was  so  fluttered,  yet  rather  enjoying  it. 

"I'll  wait;  and,  in  the  mean  time,  you  could  be 
learning  to  like  me.  Would  it  be  a  very  hard  lesson, 
dear  ?  " 


Aunt  March  settles  the  Question.     331 

"Not  if  I  chose  to  learn  it,  but  —  " 

"  Please  choose  to  learn,  Meg.  I  love  to  teach,  and 
this  is  easier  than  German,"  broke  in  John,  getting 
possession  of  the  other  hand,  so  that  she  had  no  way 
of  hiding  her  face,  as  he  bent  to  look  into  it. 

His  tone  was  properly  beseeching ;  but,  stealing  a 
shy  look  at  him,  Meg  saw  that  his  eyes  were  merry  as 
well  as  tender,  and  that  he  wore  the  satisfied  smile  of 
one  who  had  no  doubt  of  his  success.  This  nettled 
her ;  Annie  Moffat's  foolish  lessons  in  coquetry  came 
into  her  mind,  and  the  love  of  power,  which  sleeps  in 
the  bosoms  of  the  best  of  little  women,  woke  up  all 
of  a  sudden,  and  took  possession  of  her.  She  felt 
excited  and  strange,  and,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do, 
followed  a  capricious  impulse,  and,  withdrawing  her 
hands,  said,  petulantly,  "  I  donH  choose ;  please  go 
away,  and  let  me  be  ! " 

Poor  Mr.  Brooke  looked  as  if  his  lovely  castle  in  the 
air  was  tumbling  about  his  ears,  for  he  had  never  seen 
Meg  in  such  a  mood  before,  and  it  rather  bewildered 
him. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  that  ?  "  he  asked,  anxiously, 
following  her  as  she  walked  away. 

"Yes,  I  do ;  I  don't  want  to  be  worried  about  such 
things.  Father  says  I  needn't ;  it's  too  soon,  and  I'd 
rather  not." 

"  Mayn't  I  hope  you'll  change  your  mind  by  and 
by?  I'll  wait,  and  say  nothing  till  you  have  had  more 
time.  Don't  play  with  me,  Meg.  I  didn't  think  that 
of  you." 

"  Don't  think  of  me  at  all.     I'd  rather  you  wouldn't," 


332  Little  Women, 

said  Meg,  taking  a  naughty  satisfaction  in  trying  her 
lover's  patience  and  her  own  power. 

He  was  grave  and  pale  now,  and  looked  decidedly 
more  like  the  novel  heroes  whom  she  admii  ed  ;  but  he 
neither  slapped  his  forehead  nor  tramped  about  the 
room,  as  they  did ;  he  just  stood  looking  at  her  so 
wistfully,  so  tenderly,  that  she  found  her  heart  relent- 
ing in  spite  of  her.  What  would  have  happened 
next  I  cannot  say,  if  x\unt  March  had  not  come  hob- 
bling in  at  this  interesting  minute. 

The  old  lady  couldn't  resist  her  longing  to  see  her 
nephew ;  for  she  had  met  Laurie  as  she  took  her 
airing,  and,  hearing  of  Mr.  March's  arrival,  drove 
straight  out  to  see  him.  The  family  were  all  busy  in 
the  back  part  of  the  house,  and  she  had  made  her  way 
quietly  in,  hoping  to  surprise  them.  She  did  surprise 
two  of  them  so  much,  that  Meg  started  as  if  she  had 
seen  a  ghost,  and  Mr.  Brooke  vanished  into  the  study. 

"Bless  me!  what's  all  this?"  cried  the  old  lady, 
with  a  rap  of  her  cane,  as  she  glanced  from  the  pale 
young  gentleman  to  the  scarlet  young  lady. 

"  It's  father's  friend.  I'm  so  surprised  to  see  you  !  " 
stammered  Meg,  feeling  that  she  was  in  for  a  lecture 
now. 

"  That's  evident,"  returned  Aunt  March,  sitting 
down.  "  But  what  is  father's  friend  saying,  to  make 
you  look  like  a  peony?  There's  mischief  going  on, 
and  I  insist  upon  knowing  what  it  is !  "  w^ith  another 
rap. 

"  We  were  merely  talking.  Mr.  Brooke  came  for 
his  umbrella,"  began  Meg,  wishing  that  Mr.  Brooke 
and  the  umbrella  were  safelv  out  of  the  house. 


Aunt  March  settles  the  Question.     2)7)?i 

"Brooke?  That  boy's  tutor?  Ah!  I  understand 
now.  I  know  all  about  it.  Jo  blundered  into  a 
wrong  message  in  one  of  your  pa's  letters,  and  I  made 
her  tell  me.  You  haven't  gone  and  accepted  him, 
child?"  cried  Aunt  March,  looking  scandalized. 

"Hush!  he'll  hear!  Shan't  I  call  mother?"  said 
Meg,  much  troubled. 

"  Not  yet.  I've  something  to  say  to  you,  and  I 
must  free  my  mind  at  once.  Tell  me,  do  you  mean 
to  marry  this  Cook  ?  If  you  do,  not  one  penny  of  my 
money  ever  goes  to  you.  Remember  that,  and  be  a 
sensible  girl,"  said  the  old  lady,  impressively. 

Now  Aunt  March  possessed,  in  perfection,  the  art 
of  rousing  the  spirit  of  opposition  in  the  gentlest 
people,  and  enjoyed  doing  it.  The  best  of  us  have 
a  spice  of  perversity  in  us,  especially  when  we  are 
young,  and  in  love.  If  Aunt  March  had  begged  Meg 
to  accept  John  Brooke,  she  would  probably  have 
declared  she  couldn't  think  of  it ;  but,  as  she  was 
peremptorily  ordered  not  to  like  him,  she  immediately 
made  up  her  mind  that  she  would.  Inclination  as 
well  as  perversity  made  the  decision  easy,  and,  being 
already  much  excited,  Meg  opposed  the  old  lady  with 
unusual  spirit. 

P^  "  I  shall  marry  whom  I  please.  Aunt  March,  and 
you  can  leave  your  money  to  any  one  you  like,"  she 
said,  nodding  her  head  with  a  resolute  air. 

"  Highty  tighty  !  Is  that  the  way  you  take  my  ad- 
vice, miss?  You'll  be  soiTy  for  it,  by  and  by,  when 
you've  tried  love  in  a  cottage,  and  found  it  a  failure." 

"  It  can't  be  a  worse  one  than  some  people  find  in 
big  houses,"  retorted  Meg. 


334       '  Little  Women, 

Aunt  March  put  on  her  glasses  and  took  a  look  at 
the  girl, — for  she  did  not  know  her  in  this  new 
mood.  Meg  hardly  knew  herself,  she  felt  so  brave 
and  independent, — so  glad  to  defend  John,  and  assert 
her  right  to  love  him,  if  she  liked.  Aunt  March  saw 
that  she  had  begun  wrong,  and,  after  a  little  pause, 
made  a  fresh  start,  saying,  as  mildly  as  she  could, 
"  Now,  Meg,  my  dear,  be  reasonable,  and  take  my 
advice.  I  mean  it  kindly,  and  don't  w^ant  you  to 
spoil  your  whole  life  by  making  a  mistake  at  the 
beginning.  You  ought  to  marry  well,  and  help  your 
family ;  it's  your  duty  to  make  a  rich  match,  and  it 
ought  to  be  impressed  upon  you." 

"Father  and  mother  don't  think  so  ;  they  like  John, 
though  he  is  poor." 

"  Your  pa  and  ma,  my  dear,  have  no  more  worldly 
wisdom  than  two  babies." 

"  I'm  glad  of  it,"  cried  Meg,  stoutly. 

Aunt  March  took  no  notice,  but  went  on  with  her 
lecture.  "  This  Rook  is  poor,  and  hasn't  got  any  rich 
relations,  has  he  }  " 

"  No  ;  but  he  has  many  warm  friends." 

"  You  can't  live  on  friends ;  try  it,  and  see  how  cool 
they'll  grow.     He  hasn't  any  business,  has  he?" 

"  Not  yet ;  Mr.  Laurence  is  going  to  help  him."       jfl|||^ 

"  That  won't  last  long.  James  Laurence  is  a 
crotchety  old  fellow,  and  not  to  be  depended  on.  So 
you  intend  to  marry  a  man  without  money,  position, 
or  business,  and  go  on  w^orking  harder  than  you  do 
now,  when  you  might  be  comfortable  all  your  days  by 
minding  me,  and  doing  better?  I  thought  3-ou  had 
more  sense.  Mes"." 


Aunt  March  settles  the  Question.     335 

"  I  couldn't  do  better  if  I  waited  half  my  life ! 
John  is  good  and  wise  ;  he's  got  heaps  of  talent ;  he's 
willing  to  work,  and  sure  to  get  on,  he's  so  energetic 
and  brave.  Every  one  likes  and  respects  him,  and 
I'm  proud  to  think  he  cares  for  me,  though  I'm  so 
poor,  and  young,  and  silly,"  said  Meg,  looking  pret- 
tier than  ever  in  her  earnestness. 

"  He  knows  you  have  got  rich  relations,  child ; 
that's  the  secret  of  his  liking,  I  suspect." 

"Aunt  March,  how  dare  you  say  such  a  thing? 
John  is  above  such  meanness,  and  I  won't  listen  to 
you  a  minute  if  you  talk  so,"  cried  Meg,  indignantly, 
forgetting  everything  but  the  injustice  of  the  old  lady's 
suspicions.  "  My  John  wouldn't  marry  for  money, 
any  more  than  I  would.  We  are  willing  to  work,  and 
we  mean  to  wait.  I'm  not  afraid  of  being  poor,  for 
I've  been  happy  so  far,  and  I  know  I  shall  be  with 
him,  because  he  loves  me,  and  I  —  " 

Meg  stopped  there,  remembering,  all  of  a  sudden, 
that  she  hadn't  made  up  her  mind ;  that  she  had  told 
"her  John"  to  go  away,  and  that  he  might  be  over- 
hearing her  inconsistent  remarks. 

Aunt  March  was  very  angry,  for  she  had  set  her 
heart  on  having  her  pretty  niece  make  a  fine  match, 
and  something  in  the  girl's  happy  young  face  made 
the  lonely  old  woman  feel  both  sad  and  sour. 

**  Well ;  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  affair ! 
You  are  a  wilful  child,  and  you've  lost  more  than  you 
know  by  this  piece  of  folly.  No,  I  won't  stop ;  I'm 
disappointed  in  you,  and  haven't  spirits  to  see  your  pa 
now.     Don't  expect  anything  from  me  when  you  are 


33^  Little  Woinen. 

married ;  your  Mr.  Book's  friends  must  take  care  of 
you.     I'm  done  with  you  forever." 

And,  slamming  the  door  in  Meg's  face,  Aunt  March 
drove  off  in  liigh  dudgeon.  She  seemed  to  take  all 
the  girl's  courage  w^ith  her ;  for,  when  left  alone,  Meg 
stood  a  moment  undecided  whether  to  laugh  or  cry. 
Before  she  could  make  up  her  mind,  she  was  taken 
possession  of  by  Mr.  Brooke,  who  said,  all  in  one 
breath,  "  I  couldn't  help  hearing,  Meg.  Thank  you 
for  defending  me,  and  Aunt  March  for  proving  that 
you  do  care  for  me  a  little  bit." 

".I  didn't  know  how  much,  till  she  abused  you," 
began  Meg. 

"  And  I  needn't  go  away,  but  may  stay  and  be 
happy  —  may  I,  dear  }  " 

Here  was  another  fine  chance  to  make  the  crushing 
speech  and  the  stately  exit,  but  Meg  never  thought  of 
doing  either,  and  disgraced  herself  forever  in  Jo's  eyes, 
by  meekly  whispering,  "Yes,  John,"  and  hiding  her 
face  on  Mr.  Brooke's  waistcoat. 

Fifteen  minutes  after  Aunt  March's  departure,  Jo 
came  softly  down  stairs,  paused  an  instant  at  the  par- 
lor door,  and,  hearing  no  sound  within,  nodded  and 
smiled,  with  a  satisfied  expression,  saying  to  herself, 
"She  has  sent  him  away  as  we  planned,  and  that  aftjj|k 
is  settled.  I'll  go  and  hear  the  fun,  and  have  a  good 
laugh  over  it." 

But  poor  Jo  never  got  her  laugh,  for  she  was  trans- 
fixed upon  the  threshold  by  a  spectacle  which  held 
her  there,  staring  with  her  mouth  nearly  as  wide  open 
as  her  eyes.  Going  in  to  exult  over  a  fallen  enemy, 
and  to  praise   a  strong-minded  sister  for  the  banish- 


Aunt  Ma}xh  settles  the  Question,     337 

ment  of  an  objectionable  lover,  it  certainly  was  a 
shock  to  behold  the  aforesaid  enemy  serenely  sitting 
on  the  sofa,  with  the  strong-minded  sister  enthroned 
upon  his  knee,  and  wearing  an  expression  of  the  most 
abject  submission.  Jo  gave  a  sort  of  gasp,  as  if  a  cold 
shower-bath  had  suddenly  fallen  upon  her,  —  for  such 
an  unexpected  turning  of  the  tables  actually  took  her 
breath  away.  At  the  odd  sound,  the  lovers  turned 
and  saw  her.  Meg  jumped  up,  looking  both  proud 
and  shy;  but  "  that  man,"  as  Jo  called  him,  actually 
laughed,  and  said,  coolly,  as  he  kissed  the  astonished 
new  comer,  "  Sister  Jo,  congratulate  us  !  " 

That  was  adding  insult  to  injury  !  it  was  altogether 
too  much !  and,  making  some  wild  demonstration 
with  her  hands,  Jo  vanished  without  a  word.  Rush- 
ing up  stairs,  she  startled  the  invalids  by  exclaiming, 
-  tragically,  as  she  burst  into  the  room,  "  Oh,  do  some- 
body go  down  quick !  John  Brooke  is  acting  dread- 
fully, and  Meg  likes  it !  " 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  March  left  the  room  with  speed  ;  and, 
casting  herself  upon  the  bed,  Jo  cried  and  scolded 
tempestuously  as  she  told  the  awful  news  to  Beth  and 
Amy.  The  little  girls,  however,  considered  it  a  most 
agreeable  and  interesting  event,  and  Jo  got  little  com- 
jpfort  from  them  ;  so  she  went  up  to  her  refuge  in  the 
garret,  and  confided  her  troubles  to  the  rats. 

Nobody  ever  knew  what  went  on  in  the  parlor  that 
afternoon ;  but  a  great  deal  of  talking  was  done, 
and  quiet  Mr.  Brooke  astonished  his  friends  by  the 
eloquence  and  spirit  with  which  he  pleaded  his  suit, 
told  his  plans,  and  persuaded  them  to  ^arrange  every- 
thing just  as  he  wanted  it. 


23^  Little  Women. 

The  tea-bell  rangf  before  he  had  finished  describing^ 
the  paradise  which  he  meant  to  earn  for  Meg,  and  ho 
proudly  took  her  into  supper,  both  looking  so  happy, 
th^t  Jo  hadn't  the  heart  to  be  jealous  or  dismal.  Amy 
was  very  much  impressed  by  John's  devotion  and 
Meg's  dignity.  Beth  beamed  at  them  from  a  distance, 
while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  March  surveyed  the  young  couple 
w^ith  such  tender  satisfaction,  that  it  was  perfectly 
evident  Aunt  March  was  right  in  calling  them  as 
"  unworldly  as  a  pair  of  babies."  No  one  ate  much, 
but  every  one  looked  very  happy,  and  the  old  room 
seemed  to  brighten  up  amazingly  when  the  first  ro- 
mance of  the  family  began  there. 

"  You  can't  say  '  nothing  pleasant  ever  happens 
now,'  can  you,  Meg?"  said  Amy,  ti-ying  to  decide 
how  she  would  group  the  lovers  in  the  sketch  she  was 
planning  to  take. 

"  No,  I'm  sure  I  can't.  How  much  has  happened 
since  I  said  that !  It  seems  a  year  ago,"  answered 
Meg,  who  was  in  a  blissful  dream,  lifted  far  above 
such  common  things  as  bread  and  butter. 

"  The  joys  come  close  upon  the  sorrows  this  time, 
and  I  rather  think  the  changes  have  begun,"  said  Mrs. 
March.  "  In  most  families  there  comes,  now  and 
then,  a  year  full  of  events  ;  this  has  been  such  an  one, 
but  it  ends  well,  after  all." 

"  Hope  the  next  will  end  better,"  muttered  Jo,  who 
found  it  very  hard  to  see  Meg  absorbed  in  a  stranger 
before  her  face ;  for  Jo  loved  a  few  persons  very 
dearly,  and  dreaded  to  have  their  affection  lost  or 
lessened  in  any  way. 

"  I  hope  the  third  year  from  this  will  end  better  ;  I 


Aunt  March  settles  the  Question,     339 

mean  it  shall,  if  I  live  to  work  out  my  plans,"  baid 
Mr.  Brooke,  smiling  at  Meg,  as  if  everytliing  had 
become  possible  to  him  now. 

"  Doesn't  it  seem  very  long  to  wait?  "  asked  Amy, 
who  was  in  a  hurry  for  the  wedding. 

''  I've  got  so  much  to  learn  before  I  shall  be  ready, 
it  seems  a  short  time  to  me,"  answered  Meg,  with  a 
sweet  gravity  in  her  face,  never  seen  there  before. 

"  You  have  only  to  wait.  /  am  to  do  the  work," 
said  John,  beginning  his  labors  by  picking  up  Meg's 
napkin,  with  an  expression  which  caused  Jo  to  shake 
her  head,  and  then  say  to  herself,  with  an  air  of  relief, 
as  the  front  door  banged,  "  Here  comes  Laurie  ;  now 
we  shall  have  a  little  sensible  conversation." 

But  Jo  was  mistaken  ;  for  Laurie  came  prancing  in, 
overflowing  with  spirits,  bearing  a  great  bridal-looking 
bouquet  for  "  Mrs.  John  Brooke,"  and  evidently  labor- 
ing under  the  delusion  that  the  whole  affair  had  been 
brought  about  by  his  excellent  management. 

"  I  knew  Brooke  would  have  it  all  his  own  wa}', — 
he  always  does ;  for  when  he  makes  up  his  mind  to 
accomplish  anything,  it's  done,  though  the  sky  falls," 
said  Laurie,  when  he  had  presented  his  offering  and 
his  congratulations. 

"Much  obliged  for  that  recommendation.  I  take  it 
as  a  good  omen  for  the  future,  and  invite  you  to  my 
wedding  on  the  spot,"  answered  Mr.  Brooke^  who  felt 
at  peace  with  all  mankind,  even  his  mischievous  pupil. 

"  I'll  come  if  I'm  at  the  ends  of  the  earth  ;  for  the 
sight  of  Jo's  face  alone,  on  that  occasion,  would  be 
worth  a  long  journey.  You  don't  look  festive,  ma'am  ; 
what's  the  matter.?"  asked  Laurie,  following  her  into 


340  Little  Women, 

a  corner  of  the  parlor,  whither  all  had  adjourned  to 
greet  Mr.  Laurence. 

"  I  don't  approve  of  the  match,  but  I've  made  up 
my  mind  to  bear  it,  and  shall  not  say  a  w^ord  against 
it,"  said  Jo,  solemnly.  "  You  can't  know  how  hard  it 
is  for  me  to  give  up  Meg,"  she  continued,  with  a  little 
quiver  in  her  voice. 

''  You  don't  give  her  up.  You  only  go  halves," 
said  Laurie,  consolingly. 

"  It  never  can  be  the  same  again.  I've  lost  my 
dearest  friend,  sighed  Jo." 

"  You've  got  me,  anyhow.  I'm  not  good  for  much, 
I  know ;  but  I'll  stand  by  you,  Jo,  all  the  days  of  my 
life  ;  upon  my  word  I  will !  "  and  Laurie  meant  what 
he  said. 

"  I  know  you  will,  and  I'm  ever  so  much  obliged  ; 
you  are  always  a  great  comfort  to  me,  Teddy,"  re- 
turned Jo,  gratefully  shaking  hands. 

"Well,  now,  don't  be  dismal,  there's  a  good  fellow. 
It's  all  right,  you  see.  Meg  is  happy  ;  Brooke  will  fly 
round  and  get  settled  immediately ;  grandpa  will  at- 
tend to  him,  and  it  will  be  very  jolly  to  see  Meg  in  her 
own  little  house.  We'll  have  capital  times  after  she 
is  gone,  for  I  shall  be  through  college  before  long,  and 
then  we'll  go  abroad,  or  some  nice  trip  or  other. 
Wouldn't  that  console  you  }  " 

"  I  rather  think  it  would  ;  but  there's  no  knowing 
what  may  happen  in  three  years,"  said  Jo,  thought- 
fully. 

"  That's  true !  Don't  you  wish  you  could  take  a 
look  forward,  and  see  where  we  shall  all  be  then?  I 
do,"  returned  Laurie. 


Aunt  March  settles  the  Question,     341 

"  I  think  not,  for  I  might  see  something  sad ;  and 
every  one  looks  so  happy  now,  I  don't  beheve  they 
could  be  much  improved,"  and  Jo's  eyes  went  slowly 
round  the  room,  brightening  as  they  looked,  for  the 
prospect  was  a  pleasant  one. 

Fatherland  mother  sat  together  quietly  re-living  the 
first  chapter  of  the  romance  which  for  them  began 
some  twenty  years  ago.  Amy  was  drawing  the 
lovers,  who  sat  apart  in  a  beautiful  world  of  their 
own,,  the  light  of  which  touched  their  faces  with  a 
grace  the  little  artist  could  not  copy.  Beth  lay  on  her 
sofa  talking  cheerily  with  her  old  friend,  who  held 
her  little  hand  as  if  he  felt  that  it  possessed  the  power 
to  lead  him  along  the  peaceful  ways  she  walked.  Jo 
lounged  in  her  favorite  low  seat,  with  the  grave,  quiet 
look  which  best  became  her ;  and  Laurie,  leaning  on 
the  back  of  her  chair,  his  chin  on-  a  level  with  her 
curly  head,  smiled  with  his  friendliest  aspect,  and 
nodded  at  her  in  the  long  glass  which  reflected  them 
both! 

So  grouped  the  curtain  falls  upon  Meg,  Jo,  Beth 
and  Amy.  Whether  it  ever  rises  again,  depends  upon 
the  reception  given  to  the  first  act  of  the  domestic 
drama,  called  "  Little  Women." 


End  of  Part  First. 

Part  Second,  completing  '■^Little  Women"  is  published  in  a 
volume  to  match  this. 


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S'orld  calls  poets,"  —  The  Independent 

"  Miss  Ingelow's  new  volume  exhibits  abmidant  evidence  that  time,  study,  an^ 
devotion  to  her  vocation  have  both  elevated  and  mellowed  the  powers  of  the  most 
ijifted  poetess  we  possess,  now  that  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  and  Adelaide 
Procter  sing  no  more  on  earth.  Lincolnshire  has  claims  to  be  considered  the 
Arcadia  of  England  at  present,  having  given  birth  both  to  Mr.  Tennyson  and  our 
present  Lady  Laureate."  —  London  Morning  Star. 

"  We  have  read  and  reread,  always  with  a  better  and  softer  heart We 

wish  everybody  loved  Jean  Ingelow's  writings,  or,  rather,  that  everybody  would 
read  them,  for  their  admiration  would  follow."  — Providence  Post. 

POEMS.  Illustrated  Edition,  with  One  Hundred  Pictures  from 
Drawings  by  the  first  Artists  in  England.  In  one  quarto  vol- 
ume, bound  in  cloth,  bevelled  and  gilt,  price,  §  12.00 ;  or  in 
Morocco,  price,  S  18.00. 

"The  book  is  certainly  among  the  most  baautiful  of  the  holiday  offerings 
fhe  lovers  of  the  poet  will  not  tolerate  even  this  slightly  qualified  praise,  but 
pronounce  it  the  most  beautiful." 

SOWGS  OF  SEVETiT.  Illustrated  Edition,  small  quarto, 
bound  in  cloth,  gilt,  price  $5.00  ;  or  in  Morocco,  price  S8.00. 

"  This  work  is  an  acknowledged  triumph  of  typographic  art,  with  its  delicate 
creamy  page  and  red-line  border." 

POEMS.     The  first  volume. 

A  STORY  OP  DOOM,  and  Other  Poems. 

Both    volumes,    16mo,    cloth,   gilt  top,  price  S3.50;  or  sep. 
arately,  nrice  S  1,75  each. 

Both  volumes,   32mo,  Blue  and  Gold  Edition,  price  $  3.00 ; 
or  separately,  price  $1.50  each. 

Cabinet  Edition,  complete  in  one  volume,  16m o,  cloth, 
gilt  top,  bevelled  boards,  price  $2.25. 


^r^^  Moifpd    to    n^.y    riddrfxs.   p^>^t-pQ.id.    O)     rccpipt    of 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  A  Novel.  By  Berthold  Auek- 
BACH.     16mo.     With  Pictorial  Title.     Pri-je,  $2.00. 

"  '  On  the  Heij?hts,'  in  its  calm  beauty,  is  like  a  hillside  meadow  on  a  bright 
May  morning,  when  every  blade  of  grass  holds  a  sparkling  world,  and  the  air  is 
stirred  by  no  sound  save  the  matin  songs  of  the  birds,  and  no  darkness  falls  upon 
the  ground  save  the  occasional  shadow  of  a  cloud,  which  creeps  slowly  away, 
giving  place  to  the  full  flood  of  sunlight. 

"  The  '  Heights  '  are  heights  of  social  position,  of  intellectual  striving,  and  of 
m.nal  purity  5  and  the  problems  treated  are  the  deepest  problems  of  life."  — 
Rochester  Democrat. 

WHEHE  IS  THE  CITY? 

It  is  the  experience  of  a  young  man  in  search  of  the  true  church,  with  sketches 
of  the  Baptists,  Congregationalists,  Methodists,  Episcopalians,  Quakers,  Sweden- 
borgians,  Spiritualists,  Universalists,  Unitarians,  and  how  he  found  the  City  with 
the  name  The  Lord  is  there.    1  volume,  16mo.     Price,  $  1.50. 

"  The  remarkable  thing  about  this  book  is  the  knowledge  as  well  as  the  candor 
displayed  in  describing  the  different  sects,  their  peculiar  beliefs,  the  varieties  of 
belief  existing  in  the  same  sect,  and  the  history  of  the  various  denominations  ; 
and  while  there  are  now  and  then  sharp  thrusts  at  some  of  the  denominational 
points,  a  genuinely  charitable  and  Christian  spirit  pervades  the  whole."  — 
Springfield  Republican. 

THE  PRODIGAL  SOW.  Tour  Discourses,  by  Rev. 
W.  MoRLET  PuNSHON,  with  a  Preface  by  Rev.  Gilbert 
Haven,  editor  of  "  Zion's  Herald."  16mo.  Paper  covers, 
price,  25  cents  ;  cloth,  50  cents. 

A  BOOK  ABOUT  BOYS.    By  Ascott  R.  Hope,  Author 

of  "  A  Book  about  Dominies."     16mo,     Price,  $1.25. 

"  Often  playful,  but  always  in  earnest,  the  writer  says  a  great  deal  which  will 
be  entirely  new  to  minds  that  should  be  familiar  with  all  that  concerns  the  lives 
of  boys.  His  book,  indeed,  is  one  that  demands  the  best  attention  of  parents, 
especially,  and  ought  to  receive  it."  —  The  Leader. 

A  BOOK  ABOUT  DOMINIES.  By  Ascott  R.  Hope. 
One  volume,  16rao.     Price,  $1.25. 

"  Not  since  Henry  Taylor  wrote  his  essay  on  children  have  we  seen  anything 
on  the  important  subject  of  this  work  so  sensibly  conceived  or  uttered  so  grace- 
fully. It  ought  to  find  its  way  at  once  to  the  hands  of  every  pupil  teachpr  in 
the  country  ;  but  the  oldest  member  of  the  profession  will  be  a  man  of  no  or- 
dinary accomplishment  and  experience  if  he  does  not  here  find  something  to 
encourage,  to  incite,  to  instruct,  and  to  console  him."  —  London  Daily  Review. 

STOBIES  OF  SCHOOL  LIFE.  By  Ascott  R.  Hope. 
In  Press. 

^^^  Mailed,  post-paid,  to  any  address,  on  receipt  of  the  price,  by  ths 
Publishers. 


Messrs.  nooeris  Brothers'  Publications. 


LIVES    OF    EXEMPLARY  WOMEN 


Messrs.  Roberts'  Bros,  are  publishing;  a  series  of  Lives  of  Exemplary 

Women,  uniform  in  size  and  price.    The  first  volume  is 
MEMOIKS     AND     CORRESPONDENCE    OF     MADAME 

RECAMIER.     Translated  from  the  French  and  edited  by  Miss 
LUYSTER.    With  a  fine  portrait  of  Madame  Kecamier.    Sixth  edition. 
One  handsome  12mo  volume.    Price  $  2.00. 
"  Her  own  contributions  to  it  are  exceedingly  brief,  but  her  individuality  permeates  the 
whole  work  and  gives  it  unity.    She  was  undoubtedly  a  woman  of  genius ;  but  it  was  in  hei 
life  alone,  in  her  noble  friendships,  in  her  unselfish  devotion  to  all  bound  to  her  by  any  ties, 
that  gave  her  genius  expression,  and  it  is  only  fair,  therefore,  that  she  should  attain  immor- 
tality not  through  the  labor  of  her  own  spirit,  but  rather  through  the  praise  of  those  by 
whom  she  was  so  well  beloved."  —  Virginia  Vaughan  in  "  Tht  Leader." 

The  second  volume  is 
UEE  AND  LETTERS   OP   MADAME   ST/^TETCHINE.    By 

Count  de  Falloux.  Translated  by  Miss  Preston.  Fourth  edition. 
In  one  volume.    12mo.    Price  $2.00. 

"  The  Life  and  Letters  of  Madame  Swetchine,  is  a  companion  volume  to  Mme.  Recamier, 
and  both  works  give  us  two  phases  of  contemporary  Paris  life,  aud  two  characters  that, 
with  some  accidental  resemblances,  present  strong  points  of  contrast. 

"  The  social  influence  both  women  exercised  was  good,  but  when  we  compare  the  two, 
Madame  Recamier's  sinks  to  a  much  lower  level.  She  (Madame  11.)  was  gentle  and  kind, 
ready  to  sacrifloe  herself  to  any  extent  to  advance  the  material  influence  of  her  friends,  but 
■he  was  essentially  a  worldly  woman ;  whereas  Madame  Swetchine  was  '  in  the  world  but 
not  of  it'  She  exerted  an  immense  spiritual  as  well  as  intellectual  influence  on  aU  who 
approached  her,  and  raised  her  friends  to  her  own  level.  Madame. Recamier  made  her  asso- 
ciates pleased  with  themselves,  whilst  Madame  Swetchine  taught  hers  to  forget  themselves. 

"  As  a  biography,  the  life  of  Madame  Swetchine  is  more  satisfactory  and  much  better 
written;  that  of  Madame  Recamier  is  fuller  of  personal  anecdote  respecting  distinguished 
persons,  and  as  a  book  of  reference  is  more  valuable.  We  freguently  meet  the  same  people 
in  each,  and  in  this  respect  they  serve  to  illustrate  and  explam  each  other."  —  Frovidenct 
Journal. 

The  third  volume  is 
THE  FRIENDSHIPS  OF  "WOMEN.    By  Rev.  W.  K.  Algee. 
Fourth  edition.    One  volume,  12mo.    Price  $2.00. 

"  Mr.  Alger  is  among  our  most  diligent  students  and  earnest  thinkers ;  and  this  volume 
will  add  to  the  reputation  he  has  fairly  earned  as  the  occupant  of  quite  a  prominent  place  in 
American  literature.  He  deserves  all  the  popularity  he  has  won ;  for,  always  thoughtful, 
sincere,  and  excellent  of  purpose  with  his  pen,  he  allows  no  success  to  seduce  him  into  any 
content  with  what  he  has  already  accomplished.  His  '  Friendships  of  Women,'  for  many 
reasons,  will  have  a  wide  circle  of  readers,  and  cannot  fail  to  increase  our  sense  of  the 
worth  of  human  nature,  as  it  enthusiastically  delineates  some  of  its  most  elevated  manifes- 
tations. By  telling  what  woman  has  been,  he  tells  what  woman  may  be ;  intellectually  as 
well  as  morally,  in  the  beauty  of  her  mind  as  well  as  in  the  affections  of  her  heart,  and  the 
loveliness  of  her  person."  —  Salem  Gazette. 

The  fourth  volume  is 

SAINT    BEUVE'S    PORTRAITS    OF    CELEBRATED 
■WOMEN. 
MADAME  DE  SEVIOKE.  MADAME  DE  DURAS. 

MADAME  DE  LA  FAYETTE.  MADAME  DE  REMUS  AT. 

yATiAMK  DE  SOVZA.  MADAME  DE  KRUDENER. 

MADAME  ROLAND.  MADAME  OWIZOT. 

MADAME  DE  STAEL. 

To  match  "Madame  Kecamier,"  "Madame  Swetchine,"  and  «*Th« 
Friendships  of  Women."    In  one  volume,  12mo.    Price  $2.00. 


$9-  Mailed,  post-paid,  to  any  address,  on  receipt  of  the  price,  by  ths 
Publishera. 

12 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Fubiicattons, 


JUVENILES, 


SWEET  COUNSEL.  A  Book  for  Girls.  By  Sarah 
Tytler.     16mo.     $2.25. 

THE  PIGEON  PIE.  A  Tale  of  Roundhead  Times.  By 
Miss  YoNGE.     Illustrated.     16mo.     $1.25. 

HELEN  AND  HER  COUSINS ;  or,  Two  Months  at 
Ashfield  Rectory,     Illustrated.     18mo.     50  cents. 

THE  TANNER  BOY.  A  Life  of  General  Grant.  Illus- 
trated.    IGmo.     $1.50. 

GASCOYNE  ;  The  Sandal-Wood  Trader.     By  Ballantyne. 

Illustrated.     16mo.     $   .50. 

THE  TIGER  PRINCE :  or,  Adventures  in  tKe  Wilds  of 
Abyssinia.     By  Dalton.     Illustrated.     16mo.     $1.50. 

THE  PRIVATEERSMAN.  Adventures  by  Sea  and 
Land.    By  Captain  Marryatt.    Illustrated.    16mo.    $1.50. 

SANDPORB     AND    MERTON.      By    Thomas    Day. 

Illustrated.     Square  IGmo.     $1.25. 

POPULAR  FAIRY  TALES.  Containing  the  choicest 
and  best  known  J'airy  Stories.  Illustrated.  2  vols.,  square 
16mo.     Each,  $1.25. 

PAUL  PRESTON'S  VOYAGES,  Travels,  and  Re- 
markable Adventures.     Illustrated.     Square  16mo.     $1.25. 

FIRESIDE  TALES.  In  Prose  and  Verse.  By  Mary 
Hov^iTT.     Illustrated.     16mo.     75  cents. 

THE  SCOTTISH  ORPHANS ;  and  Arthur  Monteith. 
By  Mrs.  Blackford.     Illustrated.     16mo.     75  cents. 


^W  Mailed^  post-paid,  to  any  address,  on  receipt  of  the  price    by  the 
Publishers. 

18 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers^  Publications. 


THE  LAYlilAN'S  BREVIARY.  A  Selection  for  Every 
Day  in  the  Year.  Translated  from  the  German  of  Leopold  Schefeb, 
by  Charles  T.  Brooks.  In  one  square  16mo.  volume,  bevelled  cloth, 
gilt  edges.    Price,  $  2.50.     A  cheaper  edition.    Price,  $  1.50. 

The  'Layman's  Breviary'  wiU  adorn  drawing-room  centre-tables, 
bouaoirs,  library  nooks ;  it  will  be  a  favorite  travelling  companion,  and 
be  carried  on  summer  excursions  to  read  under  trees  and  on  verandas. 
For  every  day  of  the  year  there  are  thoughts,  counsels,  aspirations  —  ma- 
ny of  them  Oriental  in  tone,  or  patriarchal  in  spirit;  there  are  delineations 
of  nature,  pure  utterances  of  faith ;  each  page  contains  fresh  and  earnest 
expressions  of  a  poetic,  believing,  humane  soul  — often  clad  in  exquisite 
language.  It  is  eminently  a  household  book,  and  one  to  be  taken  up  and 
enjoyed  at  intervals."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  Each  poem  is  in  itself  a  sermom ;  not  of  dry,  theological  dogmas,  but 
the  love  and  care  of  the  Infinite,  the  yearning  and  outreaching  of  the  hu- 
man to  grasp  the  divine.  It  is  a  book  not  to  be  lightly  read  and  carelessly 
tossed  aside,  but  to  be  studied  daily  until  the  lessons  it  conveys  are 
learned,  and  its  comforting  words  written  on  every  heart.  Of  the  au- 
thor's religious  opinions  we  know  nothing;  what  creed  he  subscribof  to 
we  cannot  teU ;  but  we  do  know  that  he  is  a  true  worshipper  of  God.  and 
lover  of  his  fellow-men.  This  book  should  be  on  every  table  ;  all  house- 
holds should  possess  it;  we  cannot  too  highly  recommend  it  to  the  notice 
of  all.  It  has  been  truly  said,  that  '  these  blooming  pictures  of  Nature, 
praising  the  love,  the  goodness,  the  wisdom  of  the  Creator  and  His  work, 
form  in  truth  a  poetical  book  of  devotion  for  the  layman  whom  the  dogma 
does  not  satisfy  —  a  breviary  for  man.' "  —  The  Wide  World. 

MY  PRISONS.  Memoirs  of  Silvio  Pellico.  With  an 
Introduction  by  Epes  Sargent,  and  embellished  with  fifty  Illustra- 
tions from  drawings  by  Billings,  One  square  12mo.  volume,  bevelled 
cloth,  gilt  edges.    Price,  $  3.50.     A  cheaper  edition.    Price,  $  2.00. 

"  Some  thirty-five  years  ago  the  publication  of"  My  Prisons,  Memoirs  of 
(Silvio  Pellico,"  first  appealed  to  the  sympathies  of  the  Italian  people. 
The  history  of  a  martyr  to  freedom  is  always  entertaining,  and  the  pathos 
and  beauty  which  surround  the  narrative  in  question  have  always  kept 
alive  the  interest  of  all  intelligent  nations.  It  ranks,  therefore,  deservedly 
high  in  biographical  literature.  The  present  edition  is  a  very  superior  one, 
and  is  introduced  by  Epes  Sargent,  who  vigorously  reviews  the  despotism 
of  Austria  in  the  incarceration  of  Pellico,  and  the  changes  which  have 
since  occurred  in  European  politics."  —  Chicago  Evening  Journal. 

*♦  The  story  is  simply  told,  for  adventures  like  those  of  the  author  need 
DO  graces  of  style  or  highly  wrought  figures.  The  book  has  a  charm 
which  few  novels  possess ;  indeed,  one  can  hardly  believe  that  it  is  true, 
and  that  so  few  years  have  passed  since  men  of  noble  birth  and  fine  cul- 
ture were  condemned  to  suff"er  for  years  in  prison  on  account  of  their  po- 
litical opinions." —  Boston  Transcript. 


90;-  Mailed,  post  paid,  to  any  address,  on  receipt  of  the  price,  by  tJu 
Publishers. 

16 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'*  Publications. 


Juveniles. 

LITTLE  WOMEN;  or,  Meg,  Jo,  Beth,  and  Amy. 

A  Girl's  Book.    By  Louisa  M.  Alcott.    With  Illustrations. 

One  volume,  16mo.  Price,  $  1..50. 
"  One  of  the  pleasantest  books  we  have  read  for  a  long  time  is  '  Little  Women,' 
the  story  of  four  young  girls,  —Meg,  Jo,  Beth,  and  Amy.  This  is  a  thoroughly- 
natural  and  charming  book,  fresh  and  full  of  life,  and  we  heartily  recommend  it 
to  all  young  people,  big  or  little.  We  gave  it  to  a  little  girl  of  twelve  to  reai?,  for 
whose  opinion  we  have  grfeat  respect,  and  she  pronounced  it  just  the  nicest  book. 
'  I  could  read  it  right  through  three  times,  and  it  would  be  nicer  and  funnier  every 
time.'  And,  to  our  certain  knowledge,  she  read  it  twice  in  one  week,  and  would 
have  read  it  again  had  not  the  book  been  carried  off."  —  Putnam's  Magazine. 

THE  LITTLE  GYPSY.  Translated  from  the  French  of 
Eli  Sauvage  by  Miss  Lutster.  With  12  Illustrations  by 
Frolich.  Square  12mo.  Bevelled  cloth,  gilt  side.  Price, 
$1.50. 

»'  It  is  seldom  we  find  a  story  so  rich  in  material.  There  is  truth,  simplicity, 
pathos,  romance,  variety,  purity,  kindness  enough  concentrated  for  a  dozen 
ordinary  books.  We  give  our  unqualified  approbation  to  the  artistic  merits  and 
unwearying  interest  of  The  Little  Gypsy,  who  has  stolen  our  heart  by  her  rare 
loveliness  and  goodness,  just  as  she  did  that  of  all  those  who  came  within  the 
sphere  of  her  magnetic  influence."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

NEW    ILLUSTRATED     HUMOROUS    SERIES. 

1.  Mischievous  Joe. 

2.  Foolish  Zoe. 

3.  Boasting  Hector. 

The  Text  by  their  Mammas ;  the  Designs  by  L.  Frolich. 

Bound  in  flexible  cloth.     Price,  75  cents  each. 
These  illustrated  picture-books  are  produced  in  the  highest  style  of  the  art, 
and  will  please  the  little  folks  bej'ond  measure. 

"  The  illustrations  are  very  successful,  and  are  just  naughty  enough  to  please 
the  little  folks.  They  always  take  special  pleasure  in  the  tragic  element,  and 
find  stories  of  perfectly  good  boys  and  girls  too  tame  and  uninteresting  to  suit 
their  desire  to  see  in  books  just  such  children  as  they  are  themselves,  —  passion- 
ate, proud,  vain,  struggling  with  their  evil  impulses,  and  only  growing  better  by 
constant  effort,  aided  by  wise  precept  and  the  highest  of  all  influences,  good 
example."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

MISS  LILY'S  VOYAGE  ROUND  THE  WORLD. 

Undertaken  in  company  with  her  two  cousins,  Masters  Paul 
and  Toto,  and  Little  Peter.     Translated  from  the  French  by 
Miss   Luyster.      With  48   designs   by  Lorenz    Frolich. 
8vo.     Bevelled  cloth,  gilt  side.     Price,  %  3.50^ 
This  narrative  of  a  voyage  planned  by  four  adventurers,  who,  fascinated  by 

reading  R,obinson  Crusoe,  wished  to  become  great  travellers,  is  made  irresistibly 

humorous  by  Frdlich's  admirable  designs. 


(5^^  Mailed^  post-paid,  to  any  address,  on  receipt  of  the  price,  by    the 
Publishers. 

17 


HANDY  VOLUME  SERIES. 

I. 

HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  By  F.  C.  Burnand.  Price,  in  Cloth, 
$i.oo;  in  Illuminated  Paper  Covers,  75  cents. 
Frojn  the  Lo7idon  A  tJiencetnn. 
"  Of  the  many  '  Happy  Thoughts  '  which  have  occurred  either  to  Mr.  Bur- 
nand or  his  hero,  the  thought  of  having  such  thoughts  is  the  happiest.  As  we 
read,  we  laugh  and  we  admire.  Mr.  Burnand  is  so  fertile  in  extravagant  com- 
edy, that  we  have  no  other  resource  ;  but,  at  lea.st,  our  laughter  is  genuine. 
We  do  not  feel  ashamed  of  having  been  amused.  There  is  no  painful  feeling 
of  humiliation  afterwards,  like  the  '  next  morning  '  which  follows  a  revel.  We 
may  say  of  Mr.  Bumand's  fun,  that  there  is  not  a  headache  in  a  hogshead  of 
it.  Utterly  ludicrous  as  his  characters  are,  they  are  neither  monstrosities  nor 
abortions.  They  are  exaggerations  of  what  is  perfectly  real,  living  '  humors,' 
combined  too  copiously,  but  not  invented.  But  then  he  overlays  them  with 
such  a  vivid  wealth  of  caricature  that  we  forget  our  first  impression,  and  give 
ourselves  up  to  the  most  imcritical  enjoyment We  cannot  decide  wheth- 
er we  ought  to  quote  or  not  ;  we  find  ourselves  again  reading  and  laughing  : 
and,  after  all,  we  resolve  upon  sending  our  readers  to  the  book  itself,  that  they 
may  read  and  laugh  with  us." 

From  the  London  Spectator. 

_"  '■Happy  Thought .''  Mr.  Burnand  must  have  said  to  himself  when  he  re- 
printed these  papers' —  ' puzzle  the  critics.'  The  present  critic  confesses  him- 
self puzzled.  There  is  such  a  fiind  of  humor  in  every  page  of  the  book  that 
ca'.m  analysis  is  out  of  t'.e  question.  ^Ir.  Burnand  is  not  only  comic,  but  he 
knows  it  and  he  means  it.  He  contrives  the  most  ludicrous  situations  and 
thrusts  his  man  into  them  simph-  to  see  what  he  will  say.  It  is  not  enough 
that  his  man  should  drink  too  much  at  a  club  dinner,  and  take  short-hand  notes 
of  his  inarticulate  phrases,  but  he  must  go  and  have  a  serious  interview  with 
his  '  s'lic'tor,'  merely  in  order  that  his  note-book  may  record  all  the  stages  in 
the  typical  development  of  drunkenness.  This  inten.-iew  with  the  solicitor  is, 
perhaps,  the  most  characteristic  part  of  the  book.  It  is  marked  by  more  than 
Mr  Burnand's  usual  daring.  The  idea  of  a  man  writing  down  in  a  note-book, 
^ Happ  Thght.  — Go  to  bed  in  my  boots,'  is  not  comic  if  you  try  to  analyze 
it.  But  th;;n  j'ou  don't  analj-ze  it  You  accept  it  without  scrutiny.  You 
know  the  whole  thing  is  a  caricature,  and  so  long  as  you  laugh  heartily  you 
don't  ask  whether  this  or  that  detail  is  out  of  drawing.  If  you  d'd,  the  absurd- 
ity of  a  man  who  can't  speak  plainly  writing  down  his  words  exactly  as  he 
pronounces  them  would  of  course  shock  your  nice  sense  of  proportion.  Some- 
how or  other,  it  does  not  shock  ours.  We  are  in  ]\Ir.  Burnand's  hands.  He 
may  do  what  he  likes  with  us." 

From  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  ■ 

"  It  is  a  handsome  little  book,  and  as  good  as  it  is  good-looking.  We  do  not 
know  when  we  have  seen  more  fun,  or  a  truer  or  better  kind  of  fun,  than  that 
which  sparkles  from  end  to  end  of  Mr.  Burnand's  brochure." 

From  The  London  Review. 
"  Mr.  Burnand  is  a  skilled  inventor  of  clever  nonsense,  and  there  is  this 
peculiarity  about  his  fooling  which  distinguishes  it  from  funny  writing  in 
general,  —  he  is  never  vulgar.  A  more  idle  book  could  not,  perhaps,  be  bought, 
or  one  which  a  reader  would  sooner  buy  when  he  or  she  wanted  to  feel  idle. 
It  needs  no  more  effort  to  take  in  v^hat  iMr.  Burnand  wishes  to  say  than  it 

does  to  smoke  a  cigar He  only  aims  to  amuse,  and  he  succeeds 

admirably." 

Mailed  to  any  address,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  the  advertised 
price. 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 


HANDY  VOLUME  SERIES. 

IL 

DOCTOR  JACOB.  A  Novel.  By  Miss  M.  Betham  Ed- 
WARDS.  Price,  in  Cloth,  $  i.oo ;  in  Illuminated  Paper  Cov- 
ers, 75  cents. 

From,  The  Round  Table. 
"  This  is  a  story  which  partakes  somewhat  of  the  domestic  style  of  the 
German  novelists  without  their  extreme  tediousness.  It  represents  certain 
phases  of  life  which  afford  but  little  scope  for  novelty  or  adventure,  but  which 
nevertheless  call  out  whatever  there  is  of  good  or  bad,  of  passionate  or  enthu- 
siastic, in  the  nature  of  each  individual Doctor  Jacob  is  the  centre 

figure,  to  which  all  tlie  others  are  subordinate  ;  one  of  the  most  skilfully  drawn, 
original,  and  unsatisfactory  characters  we  have  ever  met  with.  A  man  of 
briliiant  attainments,  not  bad  at  heart,  but  seemingly  devoid  of  principle,  with 
a  profound  appreciation  of  all  that  is  good  in  others,  and  trusting  to  his  intel- 
lectual strength  to  keep  him  from  the  consequences  of  his  errors.  Though 
sixty  years  of  age,  his  attractions  are  so  great  that  he  wins  the  love  of  a  very 
young  girl,  whose  affection  is  displayed  with  such  artless  simplicity,  and  yet 
with  such  earnestness  that  we  can  scarcely  blame  the  doctor  for  lacking  courage 
to  resist  the  temptation  of  loving  in  return." 

Frovi  The  Nation. 
"  Her  hero,  Doctor  Jacob,  strikes  us  as  a  new  acquaintance  in  fiction.  He  is 
a  clergyman  of  the  English  Church,  who  comes  to  P'rankfort  for  the  purpose 
of  raising  funds  to  aid  him  in  fulfilling  his  duties  as  a  self-appointed  missionary 
to  the  Jews.  He  is  sixty  years  old,  but  handsomer  than  most  handsome  men 
of  thirty.  He  has  also  a  'vast  and  well-stored  mind,'  great  knowledge  of  hu- 
man nature,  manners  which  tasclnate  everybody,  and  a 'gift'  in  preaching 
which  charms  money  out  of  all  pockets.  The  actions  of  this  aged  Adonis  do 
not  in  all  respects  conform  to  the  received  codes  of  either  clerical  or  lay  moral- 
ity. In  the  first  place,  the  reader  is  left  until  nearly  the  close  of  the  book  in 
suspense,  which,  considering  that  it  is  intentionr.l  on  the  author's  part,  is  not 
too  harrowing,  as  to  the  nature  of  his  relations  with  Miss  Macartney,  the  Eng- 
lish governess  in  a  school  superintended  by  the  Fraulein  Fink.  Miss  Macart- 
ney is  evidently  greatly  troubled  by  Doctor  Jacob's  advent  in  Frankfort;  she 
has  a  horror  of  meeting  him,  and  yet  she  loves  him  tenderly." 

From  The  Cojjzmonwealth. 
"  This  is  a  novel  of  the  higher  order,  — a  German  story  told  in  that  smooth, 
graceful,  leisurely  style  that  contrasts  so  strongly  with  the  crispness  and  sparkle 
of  some  of  our  most  acceptable  American  novels, — an  admirable  style  for 
certain  purposes,  and  perfectly  adapted  to  a  minute  and  subtle  analysis  of 
character  like  this.  Dr.  Jacob,  the  hero,  is  a  nobler  sort  of  Harold  Skimpole, 
with  none  of  the  childish  inconsequence  of  that  exasperating  innocent.  This 
is  a  generous-gifted,  high-toned,  and  powerful  nature,  marred  by  one  fatal 
flaw,  —  a  tendency  to  profuseness  and  improvidence.  The  reader  feels  through- 
out all  the  charm  and  attractiveness  of  the  winsome  and  benignant  old  man 
who,  all  his  life,  had  'plucked down  hearts  to  pleasure  him,  as  you  would  roses 
from  a  bough.'  Yet  his  career  is  carried  out  unflinchingly  to  its  logical  se- 
quence, and  we  see  the  gray-haired  Sybarite  sitting  solitary  and  repentant 
among  the  ruins  of  a  mistaken  life,  yet  we  view  the  wreck  with  compassion, 
and  not  without  respect  for  the  inherent  nobleness  visible  through  all.  Only 
a  profound  student  of  human  nature  could  have  drawn  such  a  portrait." 

Mailed  to  any  address,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  the  advertised 
price. 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 


THE  HANDY  VOLUME  SERIES. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers  propose  to  issue,  under  the 
above  heading,  a  Series  of  Handy  Volumes,  which  shall  be  at 
once  various,  valuable,  and  popular,  —  their  size  a  most  conven- 
ient one,  their  typography  of  the  very  best,  and  their  price  ex- 
tremely low.  They  will  entertain  the  reader  with  poetry  as  well 
as  with  prose  ;  now  with  fiction,  then  with  fact ;  here  with  narra- 
tion, there  with  inquiry  ;  in  some  cases  with  the  works  of  living 
authors,  in  others  with  the  works  of  those  long  since  dead.  It  is 
hoped  that  they  will  prove  to  be  either  amusing  or  instructive, 
sometimes  curious,  often  valuable,  always  handy.  Each  Volume 
will,  as  a  rule,  form  a  work  complete  in  itself. 

OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 
Pall  Mall  Gazette.  —  "The  size  and  shape  of  this  volume  justifies  the 
name  given  to  the  series,  and  it  is  as  well  and  as  clearly  printed  as  many  a 
book  of  double  the  price." 

Athen^um.  —  "  The  size  is  handy,  the  type  neat,  the  paper  good,  and  the- 
price  moderate." 

Illustrated  Tii\iES.  —  "  We  hail  this  new  series  of  '  Handy  Volumes  '  with 
pleasure,  and  shall  be  careful  to  add  each  work  as  it  appears  to  our  own  rivate 
library  ;  and  would  advise  all  who  value  good,  substantial,  interesting  reading 
to  go  and  do  likewise." 

London  News.  —  "  The  handy  volume,  — the  pretty  volume,  —the  volume 
of  good  reading,  is  a  cheap  volume." 

The  Handy  Volume  Series  will  be  neatly  bound  in  cloth, 
flexible  covers,  and  also  in  illuminated  paper  covers. 


HANDY  VOLUME   SERIES, 

I. 

HAPPY  THOUGHTS.     By   F.    C.   Burnand.     Price   in 

cloth,  $i.oo;  paper  covers,  75  cents. 

2. 
DOCTOR  JACOB.    A  Novel.     By  Miss  M.  Betham  Ed- 
wards.    Price  in  cloth,  i.oo;  paper  covers,  75  cents. 

3- 
PLANCHETTE ;  or,  The  Despair  of  Science.     Being  a  full 
account  of  Modern  Spiritualism.     Price  in  cloth,  $1.25; 
paper  covers,  $1.00. 

Other  volumes  will  follow  the  above  at  convenient  intervals. 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 
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